chanty

To unleash a receding wave is the cruelest of acts
Foam and froth seethe toward her toes
As she wriggles in delight, anticipating the wash
She sees the weeds and miniature crabs toiling
To cling to the sifting sand below

Her bottom planted firmly
Her arms swallowed to her wrists in silt
The waves have reached here before, say the clams beneath
With burbles and pops, the words bursting against her flesh
But now the tide ebbs

A full moon of longing hangs indifferent in her eyes
The next wave that�s coming � that one�s for me!
In bracing herself for a cold delight of touch
She closes her eyes, holds her breath
And feels nothing

Each wave that appears stops short of its goal
The sand is becoming rippled beyond the ends of her toes
Where each wash grappled with the desire to remain
In one place, just for a while, just a little rest
For these old salty bones

She goes un-bathed, her love unrecognized in the sea�s obsession
To keep moving; in its undying dialogue
With jealous Luna, whose heavy white eye rolls distastefully
Over her trembling flesh
And slowly, she�s buried, a little at a time

She is there still, her weeping long passed to sighs
Only a wet and lumpy mound in a vista of grain�d glass
When the tide comes in again, others move over her
Tendrils of hair mistaken for lusty seaweed,
Soft and scrabbling fingertips mistaken for the crabs