pm poetry

We clambered down
a muddy bank
to clash through
scattered shells,
a graveyard of
iridescent husks,
and intertidal whelks—
shattering, clattering
spirals- glittering
beneath a heatless sun.

We plucked seaglass
and muck-slick pearls,
chucked driftwood
back to rush-
played like children
until our cheeks
burned with
wind-bit flush.

I’ll pocket this moment
for days when it seems
youth has melted away,
when weekdays strain
beneath the mundane-
when I’ve forgotten
the moon’s
powdered phase.

I’ll remember that river,
its graveyard of glitter,
and our careless laughter
in
frosted
mid-winter.