black sand beach

Above grainy, black sand
lies a settlement of cave-dwellers;
bohemian-gypsy-beach-lovers
with a bed under the stars.
Sun-bleached, few clothes and matted locks,
their little home an additional beauty to the landscape.

There I ache to watch these waves break
each morning, noon and night,
to hear this sea sing,
crashing unknown boulders
from my bewildered shoulders,
as sparks of sunrise cleave to twilight.

I would care for this sand in my hair
and bare, brown days spent star-limbed -
suspended, up-ended from routine -
by a rising and falling upside-down horizon
observed often, from eye level.

Imagine I, drifting free,
submerged in salted silk.
Fluffy intervals float lazily overhead
and a careless coastal breeze
defeats impassive sweat,
raising goose-pimples, hardened nipples

and a single, sunless shiver in days
spent under warming rays
on this black sand beach.