Late into night we forget our plans
As the tide abandons ambition—
Reluctantly, returning to the front,
But with ever less effect; leaving,
Quite accidentally, sentiments exposed.
Sea glass and driftwood, mostly;
Things only children keep.
And so our younger, less tired selves
Are revealed, and we say simple things.
Seawater seeps as easily from tired eyes
As it peeks between toes walking
Trailless margins, avoiding and