I would drive this one road home just so I could go by the beach.
I looked at everyone as I rode by
and I played my music louder now that I was awake.
At daybreak I would find my free parking spot in between tall beach hotels.
They were very tall, lengthy buildings
on either side of me and along the shore,
some rotted and most urban,
with glass walls to separate rich settings from the sidewalk.
My lopsided lot was nestled between the cement walls that twitched diagonally
and allowed for shots of palm trees in the wind
that flung and smeared sand about the asphalt
that crunched underneath the soles of my bare feet,
Sometimes I'd drive clear out there without my shoes.
I'd walk the dirty lot to the cement ramp, to the wooden path, to beach stairs,
with sand on the ground all the way.
The sunrise on my skin was beautiful,
wet with the first swim
and sticky with sand.
This is when I took sand as my first love.
The riptide crumbles before me,
leveling out and washing white foam on my sun kissed feet.
The riptide floods over my toes, my skin, and my bones
weightily pushing out then pulling back in again.
I stare upon the blue horizon,
my soles sinking deeper in the sand as the waves come crashing in,
pushing and pulling, pushing and pulling.
How endless and loving it was to watch,
the blue waves curl to throw themselves and flatten themselves again.
They were embracing
and as I loved them, I felt as infinite as the wrestling of waves
crashing on the shore.
