As if to undress you

the wind blows and draws

the ocean up into pretty

little breaths. The clouds

vague the horizon and

forget the world of color,

so that, where once bronze

and blue and holy, the beach

becomes a thrift store blouse.

What might be a family or

just four other shadows

rub and crease and stain

the beach black. The pier

hustles at the sea indefinitely,

and shelters the boy beneath.

Looking small beside the concrete

pillars, he spins his light, the only figure

fighting to spit a brightness and

a burning back on to that beach.

The beach unfolds itself from him,



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