I don’t have to tell you
All the times the sand
Has absorbed the green
Water of collapsing surf

You know the number of times
And you avoid the notion
Not to be caught counting
While the beach-goers swim

And lay in the ticking Sun, placid
As if there were a flat calm
As if there were no Moon
As if the waves don’t still

Comb In darkness with all the
Dark things, settling like sand
Over everything, into everything
Obscuring their millions of lives

Polishing the green glass
That you left sharp and broken
Frosting its edges smooth
Making it less clear, less dangerous.