The tide rises. I fall. There was an urchin
in my stomach. Tell me, how do you choose
to float the waves? Soft surf, back drift

or head a pinnacle above the surface? See
the footprints in the sand, those were mine
just a week ago. A year ago I was toiling

with castles. Brush your hair, girl, before the salt
sinks in. Sift through the pebbles with your toes;
the gold is not false. The wanting is. See it,

clutched in your hand? No, it slips right through.
Dip back into the water. There’s something just
so sweet about it. A cold that feels so clean.