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