Cast Back

Beaten,
face breaking against the salted sand bank;
and the seawater breathes over me,
running up my legs in a cold rush,
foaming under my belly.
I hear the water inhale and feel it retreat
and it tugs me a little ways
down the slope of the shoreline.
Like a hot iron, the block-hard sand
presses my chest flat,
‘til the grains crumble,
then reform with another breath of ocean,
and I can feel my skin turning red
beneath me.

~ by adamburdeshaw on May 31, 2008.