Look at all these,
drawn in the sand.
Lines where we should,
give up, let go of,
good feelings into contraband.
Draw me another groove,
deep, before the wet tide,
swallows names,
you've barely used.
High and low you all crash,
gravity said to each:
You, pebble worn to a grain,
the currents you flow in,
is just a play by moon and sun.