Wet sand

Wet sand in your hand
Scooped from the white rippled sea bottom under the waves
And gone before you reach the surface,
just a few grains remain
in the fortuneteller lines of the hand
you stretch out to show me
You shout and lift out
slim feet from holes worked in the sand
With thin, heavy legs dragged down by clinging grains
The holes disappear as the wet grains flow back
With gurgling, sucking sounds
a wave levels the surface
You bring and tell a sharp seashell
And another, with green shapes and patterns
And as you run to find more
amongst the palms that line the shore
little crab legs peak carefully out
sense the quiet and scarper across the sand
Gone before you return
We write our names as sun sets in flames
Autographs by finger in the sand
And the water and sky grow dark
Long shadows as we walk dripping home
No trace is left of our salty afternoon
But it is there, slowly developed
In the darkroom in my heart