Driftwood

When you tumbled and fell, hair tossed
in seaweed strands over sandy shell
and beach glass, those slippers tangled,
their golden laces forgotten

the tide came in,
sweep
by cunning sweep
　
to lick your soles, your palm
outstretched, a hopeful fan of fingers
rigid with the effort to drink in joy

Rachel Westfall
December 14, 2010