Sand Dollar

If I leave today, The memory of me Fades with the vanishing sunset — Glorious and vibrant, But only seen at a distance. The science of me, Witnessed by the rushing wind And swallowed in one quick gulp. My hands ache and bend like branches — A much-needed tension, Soon to be expelled. I have a delivery to ship, And it doesn't fit the casual carrier. No need for express mail. The undercurrent moves these moments With the hope to siren a truth — That raids the endpoint of the shiest coast, Where young seagulls wait for the ocean’s bounty, Where breaking waves and tumbling sand can't stop me. If I stay for tomorrow, Life will grant me a library Of infinite tidings from the deepest well.