I walk a little more slowly toward the horizon
than I did before
(each step a question
answered by an echo)
I know the sea, still, but hear the waves'
crash fuzzyfar away
(a bone china plate dropped
on the other side of the house)
And one leg drags the other, now, and my stride
leaves a small trough in the sand
And I see the world narrowed by high
gray cliffs.
I remember leaving distinct craters, every forward
push a burst of earth under a light more gold
than red
The earth tumbling along before me
The air ahead unoccupied
Awaiting.
I can see each breath, now, and I wonder which
misted ghost I've exhaled
But the surf still whispers endlessly ahead
A gull sings sharply
Beckoning.