Tide pools gleam in narcotic dark
mud reek of kelp and granite vault

bare feet expect sand but the rocks
press nails through your parchment desire.

A bone faced clown holds out a bowl
a brass jungle of keys and dreams.

Choose one.  Slide your long bleached palm
between flicking tongues of fire. Or

shelter inside your fine soft shawl
playing tunes on a three-stringed lyre.