tidewater washes, shifts sands —
delivers soft iridescence, reflects
glistening beauties — wave after wave.
we pick a few pink-spiral conch —
calcified remnants we can carry home,
nature’s reminders of past-pulverized
selves – seaworthy pieces we may place
upon a shelf or up against an ear –
hear distant, undulating memories swell
and recede — bound now by hard shell.
. . . . . . .
Susan Powers Bourne