Up on the bath house wall hands of the giant clock close in on time, try to contain it.
The glass dome sealed to a hot stone wall contemplates the day, green noonshade of
palms on dune grass, red umbrellas and bathers in the shimmering distance.
But the hour trickles past dripping showerheads down half-wet stone escapes across the sand
past umbrellas, past the graceful bending forms, slides into ocean's careless frill in glittering slanted lines.