Short Sands

Daytime dwindling on the little waves at the little waves beach

Tiny crescents of mandarin bobbing up, bobbing down

The little waves tucked in under little orange blankets as all that sunlit day says it’s slow goodnight

And all the fiery fingers stretch down across a blush of sky

Draping the evening’s cobalt curtains low; all the while whisking at the little waves,

Peeling back their peachy covers to let the midnight dreams wash in.

How lively the evening is in all its clashing hues.

How sleepy the little waves are now, drowsy deep, in denim blues.