Thursday, January 12, 2006

Waiting for High Tide

I hang out on the beach
Because it is better than bookstores
Or bustling coffee shops
The sand gets into my clothes
Finds its way into my hair
But it is less grating
Than the caffeinated cheer
And the false attempts
To be of assistance
Gulls never ask, “Can I help you?”
Crabs don’t look at me askance
When I explain that I am
Just looking
Looking to fill eighteen hours
Hours of another day
Another day

You are gone
Gone, but your castles linger
Not yet washed away by the waves
The tide does not reach that high
Not on this beach
Not in this shop

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