Washing Away

Standing on the sand watching the tide come in,
I wonder why I bothered drawing anything.
The doodles are rich, beautiful; I had no ink
no paper and no pen. But I had sand, lots
of sand. So I drew what I wanted in the cold
damp medium, and it was coils of life and richness,
a truth I'd forgotten I had within me. Now here
comes the tide, and no one will ever see it
on the beach on a day too cold to swim,
and it will be as if it had never been--
to all the world except to me, in whom the
memory has been planted, and begun to grow.