leaden lavender curtain,
silhouette of a ship projected
like a very old film,
skipping on reel,
an old man walks along the path of tide,
stepping just far enough to get his feet wet,
but not his rolled up pants, (timing perfected through years)
a young man who looks like Dürer
paces plaintively in concentric agitation,
trying to pierce the sphere of a beautiful young girl,
who ignores him,
gulls huddled around
a pile of trash
gathering for a picnic
young surf gods
in bronze movement
with the breeze of time
on their side.