It’s almost dusk,
the tide is leaving;
from cooling sands,
sea retreats,
except for watermarks;
a red-faced merchant
clambers over sharp rocks
to sell his last soda;
young girl in bikini
whispers to her lover,
words lost to the
car-park and the gulls;
the sun’s lids slowly close,
on the horizon,
once glowing bracelet of light
now shimmering hairpin;
and I hurry home,
head full of sand,
shell collection forgotten behind,
through the same winding streets
up the hill, past the cafes,
for dinner, shower and bed,
that cry of the moon,
the ocean’s veiled dream answer.
John Grey is an Australian born poet. He has been published or has work forthcoming in Slant, Stoneboat, US1 Worksheets, Bryant Literary Magazine, Natural Bridge, Southern California Review, and Soundings East.