Waves wash upon the shore

     breaking shells into sand

Incoming waves tumble a top

undertow

           sounds of rushing air

Sand conforms under stationary

footprints. The tide swirls,

     as tiny clams burrow

in cemented sand.

The vastness of the ocean

     open like the horizon.

What power draws us

           near water’s edge?

Docks appear close,

     a day could be wasted

walking pier to pier

The ocean churns time

  Each hour adds clutter to 

simple landscapes.

A fisherman disrupting 

     with line and hook.

Children unknowingly play as

     their innocence slips away.

A seeker of treasure 

     follows technology’s beep

another searches for a 

            seashell intact.

Wrinkled skin and salt blinded eyes

     means ocean side activity

will subside

          raising romantic tides

Moon beams glisten off

     the suds of black tides

and lovers claim 

   secluded property

Night and day

    beach incursions

turn seashells to sand.