Sand and Sea

A light with bite that wounds the eye
is breaker borne. Ashore,
this bright morning burns
black holes into the retina:
sun spots that dot the dunes.
My vision sweeps, south to north,
a stretch of beach. Each wave,
which breaks then smooths to ripples,
retreating leaves its flotsam:
spume-laden seaweed and shells the sun
will bleach to blinding white in hours.
A swimmer bodysurfs to water's edge.
I sip my tonic, sponge my brow,
and, through tinted glass, confront
the terrace crowd of others, cowed,
like me, by youth, by sun, by sand and sea.