Hot Water Beach

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.