As the seagull mews
so goes the echoing waves
counting tales of yesterdays
reaching sandy shores
where tiny birds scurry
leaving gentle footprints
—in the wake of flight
and sand between toes
washed by the glow
of summer sea
and wanting
the croon of
a waning day
holds on
stopping time
for just one more
grasping hands
we try to stay
it's quiet
and no one calls
as the sun shifts
toward a world unlit
waiting to rise
to another day.