Hot Water Beach

Where earth meets time in crashing waves

Destitute Beauty.
Hollowed deserted sands.
Shearing crags,
casting glimpses of night,
from towering walls.

I place my hands onto the elastic earth
and watch the crystals blow the prints away.

The cold wind brushes me;
its strokes claw into my weary scalp.

I dig my toes down deep,
resting back into the sky.

Reaching my hands
to grab an hourglass,
measuring the time in each crashing wave.

A poem by Pemba Umoja