Wet morning sand stick to my feet
while brown seaweed breaks into my path.
I travel to my beginnings toward the sea.
Watchful without pretention or notice
sounds of waves crashing and wind blushing
past me, as I step into the path.
On the shores morning and evening meet always.
Reflection of all time before me, and after me,
will continue long after my footprints are no longer
wet to my feet; deep into my path.