Under The Cast

The beach was quiet today.

The tourists have all gone
a-shy, their bronze limbs
for dimmer times;
left for brighter shores.

There is only the whisper
and the gravity
of passing.

And me.

A shell sitting
unwinking on the sand.

Even warmer, the day remains sad…
Thoughts, turned slow 
as heartbeats.

The rocks — bare of birds, are 
bleached and smooth,
with white pupils hidden in shadow. 
They sift the runoffs
sluiced from thinning silt…

I’ve lived that life once, too.

The day is grey, but
I feel the clouds’ shelter,
even if they plead ignorance; faces hidden 
behind their stormy brothers.

But it doesn’t matter.
Some days I stray more than others.

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