The sun sets -
as the last streaks of peach
ripple into the horizon,
dusk follows the curves of the tide,
and he prepares for her arrival.
This is the time
she is most beautiful -
when the clouds fade into charcoal blurs,
set against a navy blue sky,
when the rustling waves
scurry to the shore,
when the humidity dries and the moon is bright,
quiet in the deep, dark distance...
He glides atop her cool, liquid body,
casting an invisible trail
across her damp shore,
letting every last strain
float away in the white noise.
And when dawn pulls the new morning across the sky,
and warms the his seagull wings,
she will shift to accomodate the new day
and rock herself to the rhythmic hum
that only seagulls bring
as they glide along the ocean.
- Marisa Torrieri