Trespassing
The beach is quiet here
So quiet and deserted
That I wonder if we’re borrowing
Someone’s private paradise.
What feet but ours have walked this sand
At low tide, covered in rippled designs
What other feet have splashed these warm waters
In search of hermit crabs?
Do two young sisters such as we
Live in that fine big house up there
And come down to swim in the evenings
When the sunset turns the waves to flame?
Or does an old man all alone
Sit on the sandbar in the morning with his coffee mug
Watching the children and dogs play in the shallows
And the lovers walk the shoreline hand in hand?
Perhaps the house is empty
Today, at least, no one’s around
To chase us off or complain of our laughter
Ringing loud in the soft sereneness.
No one will mind us taking
The iridescent oyster shells we found
One for each of us
And one for one not here.