Day dissolves in darkened water.
No ripple remains of oar strokes,
of swimmers darting like fishes,
of dives through chameleon blue.
Cries of water birds grow still.
Your laughter, like those gulls,
has flown to some distant nest
hidden in marsh grass.
Your song too fades.
Lapwing water, moon silver,
creeps up the empty beach
erasing your footsteps.
– B.R. Strahan