The Sands

Shallow pools of water Are drinking up the sky; Chasms of cool blue-white In the brown of the sands. The clouds are in them, The houses on the shore, The winds rumple the even Glimmer of the reflection.

I dash across those shallow pools: Starring their gauzy surface: A plopping rush of bubbles: I turn and watch my boot-tracks Oozing upwards slowly in the dark wind-wrinkled sand.