returning beaches to the folks who go
to shift in sands that smooth in early Fall
while following the tidal ebb-and-flow.
A natural compliance spurs this writer
to the remembrance of a twilit stroll
a year ago when walks could still excite her
and would expose the colors of her soul;
but here, today, I’ll dash the memory
by just replacing yesteryear with now:
the past is gone—I watch a different sea
through eyes that squint below a furrowed brow.
My view is overcast—I like the way
the sea adopts my mood—forlorn and grey.
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Moderator's Note:
Nosh's Pick for Week Oct 7....
