Sculpture.
Passenger on a distant sailboat
wave on wave as the sun slides silently.
To try to mold the wave, the sun, the sky?
We build with sand, with wind,
and scream with the gulls.
But the sound we hear is the sound of a churlish wave,
etching with it's salty tears
on sand baked with the flash of tomorrow,
molding today with eyes poised expectant
with smile still unborn,
with irony.
Will we recognize our creation?
Sculpture
of sand, body filled with thunder, weeping
as it fades into yesterday
on the distant wind
of mind.