but there were faces, uncovered,

In the wood grain

In the swirls of water washing over her calm body,

Speak of gray blue eyes,

Speak of sad questioning lips and

Pearl earlobes,

In the lines of dark and lite text,

In the spools of seagulls’ footprints,

And they were seen, they must have been,

In the mixing of sand and salt water

The current pulled them in

And pushed them under;

So all voices of waves, wind,

And gulls cried over

Her too calm body curved in the current

There on the shore.

And they begged her

with beating

to breathe,

to dance,

to play.

But she did not on that day.