The Beach

The waves came rolling over him,
heaving and weaving sand;
it was white, saccharine,
all full of light and
little glimmers of
life.

He let it first cover his toes,
tiny mollusks burrowing
back into the sediment
between his feet.

And the hairs on his
legs caught the fine grains
shining on his shins,
then knees,
then hips.

He allowed his navel
to fill like an ancient
caldera, boiling over its
rim with
time.

His breast Bones gathered
its collective push; its
breathing, diamond grit
filling the swells
and recession of his chest,

and he reveled in its

weight and movement.


His Adam's apple
lurched and tremored
as the sand carrying
itself
above and beyond
to his chin,
quivering but assisting
a smile, which then
fell to the waves.

His eyes burned and the
tears that mingle
with the ocean
mingled with his as well.

So the sand enveloped him
and the tide rose
and the moon rode
its course across
the evening
and the last
thing he
ever enjoyed was seawater
in his lungs and sand
in his
hair.