Without Fire

I paste myself against a coastal horizon
amongst the trailing swirls of pink and orange.

Over my shoulder a cloud morphs from a rabbit
to a shell-less snail springing over the falling sun.

I am without fire and alone. There is nothing
in the sand alongside condolences and sea-slate.

I notice the moon is late to its purpling canopy
while wavelets whisper the final slices of sun

towards the shore. There are yet no bottles,
nor messages, nor stars. I am without fire.