The Beach Poem by Andrew Crosby

She likes to draw circles in the sand,
and run from incoming tides, only
to chase them back. Sometimes she looks
into the aurora and sees how beautiful the stars
are. Every so often the tides bring in rocks. She
says they are fallen stars, so effortless in their
new life, past life, where they can reach an aeonian
shine. I think she's glad here, and who would I be
to scratch such a spotless shell? To plant seeds
rooted somewhere in my reality? She's free, and all
she ever needed to be.