I can hear it,
the ocean breeze
pushing through the trusses,
then disappearing in silence,
somewhere in the sand.
The waves breaking,
making a pattern, a beat
driven forward, than backward,
governed by the tide.
I can smell it,
the salty air,
tangled with the days catch
and a hint of perfume
that haunts this place.
The wet sand and dry,
a curved imperfect line
littered with abalone,
disguising sea glass.
I can feel it,
the suns fading rays,
warming my face,
my skin absorbing
all that it can.
The waves crash
over my toes,
cooling my feet,
keeping a balance.
Still I can hear it,
the laughter of the children
across the empty beach,
the seagulls searching,
and diving for bits of food
along the rock barricade.
A lone street performer
with an empty hat
playing for his life.
Still I can smell it,
the seafood restaurant,
a lone megalith
anchoring the pier,
never letting go.
The tide loosening
the tightening,
letting incisiveness
rule its feeble grip.
Still I can feel it,
the cool night air
as the sun disappears
beneath the waves
drowning in the heat.
The sand on my back
as I look up
to the sky for stars
hiding in the clouds.
