pewter gray the day and soaked with the sound of corrosion
the easterly wind cold and unrelenting off the disorganized swells
not a shell on the beach worth picking up and no one has called
bored by my own small thoughts and somehow unable to read
i walk again the wide hard beach no such thing as into the wind
wind in my left ear for a mile and a half then wind in my right
tells me some things like i'm still who i was four decades ago
still alert to astonishment but better acquainted with the night
with more words in my head which i've learned not to flaunt
with more words in my head which i've learned not to flaunt
with more need in my heart which i'll never admit
and there's more i won't say
i've learned to expect betrayal
oh but what colors under my feet
the shattered shells
