the color of cinnamon

by revbillcook

the cry of terns rises
over the dunes like the sound of the sea
drawing sand into itself surging receding

beneath jagged stars and an orange moon
the air smells of salt and anise while I mumble something
about undying love still you are not listening
to me but to the sound waves make

I dream I am white foam
returning to the sea having left you
risen and naked walking across the dunes
your skin shimmering the color of cinnamon
your voice sharp and distant
as the cry of terns