Letters in The Sand

She goes tripping the beach this morn
in search of seashells almost gone
mostly fragmented washed ashore
the sea a mouth, the beach is spittle
You want exotic go Caribbean

This dawn Myrtle goes beach
as Myrtle does and did before
she of lace and foam
the boy she loved a sailor boy
the man she married a lighthouse giant

In the zone of Cape Henrico
knee Tdeep in surf
the maid goes big toe first
kinda like into a crossword puzzle.
purely tidal, oddly sinister.

The gulls, the gulls,
the gulls are always gulling