To breathe the first breath of ocean air
Deep into my starving lungs
As sun dips down to half past seven
I realize the tide’s becoming.
Even with my toes exposed
I find salt refreshingly tickling my nose,
Seagulls cry in celebration
And driftwood leads me forever on.
I roll my pants to half mast
And whistle to a little snail
Who’s slowly off to go out sailing
And I, my eye, to the clear blue sky.