On The Beach

Breaking into the horizon
the seagulls dance
low.
Slick.

On the sandy beach
Children run
tittering and chattering.

On a swing in the shade
of an oak tree on the hill
a young blonde-haired couple are
sitting
humming a song
America The Beautiful.

I hear the sky whisper to me:
Where are you from, my sad-eyed lady?
Your hair black as raven
your skin  pale as a moonlit gourd
don’t you have a home
to return to?

On the rock where the sun is warm
I curl up like a snail
writing
one last poem on the ocean wave.