Rose-colored

Among the children picking up shells,
she combed the sand for bits of sea glass.

Carefully rifling through colors
from Mosel green to yellow amber,
she considered each earnestly,
hoping to discover the perfect tint
in which to view the world.

Doctored

a pretty picture:
but who sunbathes
on a stony beach
on Long Island
in February

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Seashells from a Distant Shore

For a souvenir
you brought me back
a bed of shells

Each one unique
Each one pored over

Fretting you’d not find one
I would like

I like them all
but your thoughtfulness
most of all

Driftwood

Today, I shall be driftwood
Carried by the sea waves
And the many currents
Of travel and possibilities
And when I grow tired
I shall wash up on a fragrant beach
And bleach as white as the sands I rest upon

Lost Memory

On the sea lies the isle of memory
White beaches, white sands
Each grain a glittering drop, a treasure
Of someone who has forgotten it