Daylight has expired, but there is a lingering warmth still in the folds of her sandy flesh.
This beach has a chill wind, a few threatening cloud banks, perhaps it was a shell that just pierced my toe.
That grey gloaming time, the in-between, when night stalks the edges of shadow and the moon pulls fitfully at the waves from a low-slung horizon.
Yet here, ankle deep in volcanic and oceanic debris, lingers the heat of day and the memory of the sun’s hot kiss.
Lurking down there, beneath my calloused soles, like a banked fire with a slowly smoldering ember from a flame I never had the heart to fully extinguish.
So even now in the brisk winter, with a sweater wrapped lovingly where arms once had been, I am neither cold of heart nor cold of flesh.
By the grace of this sandy shore, that holds dear the memory of daylight, even as darkness envelopes the path.