On the Beach

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“On the Beach,” New Era, Aug. 1987, 25

On the Beach

A single seagull cries,

Some poor beached mammal dies,

I sink into the sand

Like a fallen coin

From a young man’s hand.

A single seagull glides,

A muddy little boy cries,

I slip on thoughts

Like the rings

On a young girl’s hand.

On the beach

You’re washed away,

Revealing bones

Of long-lost dreams.

A single seagull sings,

A lonely parish bell rings,

I hesitate

Like the pulse

In an old man’s hand.

All alone, I walk the beach,

Past the bones of bleached-white dreams;

The fog rolls in

And covers me

Like God’s own hand.