Caged by the city's winter light, she held the island in her bones;
the marrow-deep remembrances
of sun-edged gulls and mossy stones
and stars that trailed across the night
like wild wands of Queen Anne's lace
that swayed above the sea's embrace.
Released into the summer's hand,
bound by the never-ending sight
of water slurring over strand,
she knelt with a bucket, cup, and sticks
to build her frail domain of sand.
I still recall the castle towers
cast by many sun-burnt hours,
as she sat and sang to sleep
the princess in her sea-shell keep.
Even now, as summer ends,
as heart-entrapping dark descends
upon this beach I walk along,
I still see fragile towers reach
into the echoes of her song.