Fey moments
of a bicycle ride
along the quay
jutting the sea.
Just voices and voices
tossed astray
by the waves
which break and spray
salt and time
in a winnowing tide
streaking grays.
We pedal and glide
you and I
voices tossing
in the fine sea wind
that taunts and teases
voices borne
along a shore
of unknown depth.
Soft sand fingers
invite us to stay
and we want to
but we cannot stay
for the cool sea wind
whistles songs
from very far
stirring the pennants
which line our bay.