Cattails curve in Georgia beach breezes
While I leave foot prints in the sand.
I will find a perfect spot to set down our things
If the salty sea-smell doesn't set me first.
I blow into plastic fumes to inflate bright rafts
And in the water, steer clear of the sharp rocks.
Sandwiches crunch with grainy sand bites
And seagulls snack on my discarded crust.
I will bob in the foamy wave tops
Coming up every time they dunk me.
There is certainly wind enough for the kite,
But wouldn't you rather just sleep in this sun,
Or return back to the breaks and bathe,
Looking out to where the sky swallows the sea
And creates that blue fusion line of eternity?
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