DYING EMBERS
Chasing squawking circling gulls
the swirling sparks in drifts of wind
sweep wide across the white drained sand
where isolated pools now lie
like blackened clothing idly cast
beneath the salted wood stained air.
With daylight draining from the west
the days veneer of footprints left
are washed away by inward tide
in complex hours of twilight sky
as ashes slowly drift.