A Day at the Beach: Three Views

Waves eat sandcastles.
I'm watching them all fall down,
turrets dragged to sea,

motes of crustacean
sheddings tickling my toes as
the tide tugs them in.

The lobster shells of
howling larvae with buckets
of periwinkles

are pointing at us.
I guess we spoiled their fun
as we found our own-

unable to stop
watching, unable to stop
the waves from crashing.
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Waves eat sandcastles.
Antling architects now climb
away from the sea,

leaving the shoreline
smooth and flat. Just the furrows
sucked from our footsteps-

ephemeral lines
scratched and faded, scratched anew
down the beach... these our

temporal shadows,
dim evidence. Away from
shore we dance, giggles

shrinking. Ebb tide nap,
and we wrap ourselves with dreams
of tomorrow's meal.
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Waves eat sandcastles.
The golden age has ended-
catastrophe rolls.

Sticky, numbing brine
over burnt skin, pine sap traps
ant-men in amber.

None of them stand tall-
small and nameless and every
one of them the same.

Instead of crumbling
mud masks, this coating on my
skin hardens to glaze.

I long to be part
of the world's thickest mud pie:
Cool. Untouched by sun.
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