Except For Sand Poem by Shane Markie

No news from France tonight, except for memory in the
dark that swells and pulls for liquid taste with the rush
and break of Mediterranean waves. The sand at sunset

Cooled us together. We shook with evening chill, and stains like
fat raindrops marked our place. We ran home before the tide
swallowed our fobotprints, as if there would be no news from

Here except for sand scratching
inside bent shoes or spilling
from corners of the eyes.