I’ve a mind like an oyster. The germ of an idea,
just a lone grain of sand, mulled in mental brine,
rolls out onto the beach: a lazy, golden pearl.
Nacred sphere, carted off by a scuttling crab, gray and orange –
Whisked away by ten clicking, exoskeletal legs
before the tide can claim its treasure.
The sun warms vapid leftovers: seafoamed brain.
I float, dreamlike, under drifting clouds.
Flotsam, jetsam, fantasy of sea glass and conch shells.
Beach sand shifts and rolls; green, frothed tide tickles my toes
As a planet spins, dizzily, out of control
A gaseous child, feverish, high on fire and ice.
Someone asked, on Quora, How can I write a descriptive paragraph about the beach? and I thought, not for the first time today, that I need a little sand and sun. It’s been too long since I went parasailing, upside down, while watching dolphins play ping-pong with a shark. Or since I floated, laughing, unable to sink, in the warm salty water near Miami, smooth as glass and clear enough to see my toes squishing in the sand. And as I re-read the question, I thought, How can I not write a descriptive paragraph about the beach? But what came out, like a tiny hermit crab from a tiny painted shell, wanted to be poetry, not paragraphs.