I watch the depthy expanse of the sea,
Shimmer, froth and pattern on her surface,
My shoes are wet, the dye sets tendrils free
Sandy flash of red outlines my presence.
Full pockets of my rounded sunwarmed seeds.
Feel the weight and fit within my fingers.
An arcing arm, the pebble counts to three,
Sliding then to meet a slower purpose.
Three anglers make their play not far from me;
Tidal sages, painted hooks and casting.
Their schools of bright potential flash and weave
Lines twitch taut with corresponding dancing
My game is without useful consequence
Skimming hopes across the patterned distance.