We are at the ends of Earth
They lounge on towels,
eyes outward, oblivious
Canvas totes and Birks tossed on dark sand
I see it coming before they do
Water pours in all around us
I call for them to notice;
squeal and point
at threatened bags and Tevas.
"Grab them! They'll float away! The water's coming!"
But they are caught in a moment,
they roll their eyes, wave me off,
no time for fear this sunset.
The waters rush in,
Erasing any memory
of a beach in between two waters.
As the strip of sand recedes into depths,
a trio of tiny children stampede past us
in the direction of the disappearing edge.
Charging the waves,
all giggles and adrenaline,
they run on water, little gods.
A magic attaches to being alive and wild
on a sandbar
as the tide swells in and over
swallowing everything
but wonder.
