Crabhadail

White sands as soft as satin
Bloodwarm and enveloping,
Stretched out and untouched
But for our feet and the slow, hesitant caress of
An evening tide that tumbles up and scampers away
In tiny waves, shy and apologetic
Singing like wind chimes, sighing like pan-pipes.
These are turquoise seas of fairy tales
Deep, deep waters as clear as our minds.
We sit quiet and still under tall sand dunes while
High overhead the cries of seabirds echo lazily.

This place must seem like summer every day of the year
No matter how dark the clouds are
No matter how grey
No matter how many clothes, how many layers
How many hats and coats
No matter how many pairs of gloves we have to wear.

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