We lay in sinking crests of sand and rock,
brimmed by the sun's heat.
On mornings at dusk; orange tints breathe in,
to a white horizon below.
Fading shorelines secrete the rising waves,
though I am frozen by their serene approach.
Revise, return, and repeat,
as the tide brings a new beginning.
Our heads buried, backs turned to the world,
and shame in watching it pass by.
With the last bird's shadow cast over,
to greet waters cold.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem