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on the cusp of day and night

on the steps at the top of the dune

the westering sun behind me

scissoring palm trees

and sea grape into black silhouettes

ahead of me the sea is already dark

save three pinpoints of light

at the horizon

small craft,

perhaps a dozen souls at sea

the hurly burly waves do not heed the setting sun

but shoulder each other aside

to reach the sand

the anglers leave their sentry posts though

and hurry from the beach for home and hearth

I walk the now deserted strand

waiting for turtles and  tides

- Ken Peters


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