Wave of the Hand for the Unsaid

Sitting in the sand,
I notice things
Like the van behind me
Turned off their lights,

And the waves come

Only to leave stretch marks
On the sand in front.
Like wrinkled hands
Reaching back towards time.

And the stars above

Reflecting the unsaid
Like unlit dynamite
Buried next to a gold mine
Underneath a project house.

And the imprint next to me

Where legs reached over
And the handprint filled in
With perfume
And swear words.

And lastly,
This wave,
Was closer than the last.


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