Apr 15, 2020
Tidal Flats
The tide is out.
Sand stretches
for weeks.
The sharp glow of tide pools
catches the sunlight
and the gulls reflections.
They cry.
The tidal flat looks empty.
We walk,
heedless of the ache of the sun
or the broken shells that yearn
to catch our feet.
They, too, crave some color
other than sand,
but we are not the same.
We hold our breath
until our lungs burn like our skin
Red and hot,
The brightness that the seashells
ache for, but it is not
enough, and they reach,
and we want and reach and hope
for the sea
to come to us.
We walk for days.
The sun never sets.
The sea never sighs.
She is holding her breath,
waiting.
The tide is out.
