Sands

Ocean washed, cutting like shells broken on the beach,
sticks settled between toes forced deep in wet sand,
each marooned, isolated; hung on pebbled breast,
smooth, bright, as if lost, dropped by hidden hands.

Holding in soft arms, dead fish with yawning mouth,

seaweed drowned in dappled, fallen, salted fronds,

small teeth, rotted flesh, embraced by liquid death;
nestled, pitted against the detritus in final bonds.

Plastic bottles sliding on the crusts of endless days,
mocking, rising on the breath of ocean,  falling onto sands;
drenching shores draped with towels, strewn in disarray
lost by faded swimmers, gone to distant lands.