He hides behind a drift of sand,
Watches her walk the shore
As the surf rolls in,
Baring reef through a hiss of spray.
The waves, departing, leave foam castles
At her feet where she stops, crouches down,
And plunges in her hands deeply,
Snatching up here and there a seashell.
On his elbows, his knees, deep in the trenches
Of his embattled heart,
He watches her,
Picks her out amidst the spaces
Between the reeds
Like a slender stray’s lambency
Along fence pickets,
There and then gone
Just a second—
Much too long!—
Before she reappears again,
Passing with only a whisper
Which is the wind.
Not long and she’s gone from him,
Slipping through his gaze,
Forever. Only footprints left
In the sand.
And for this he weeps,
While drifts a thought,
Like the breeze,
Stirs a question:
Why the seashells,
And not I?
