BEACH BUM
The solitary guitarist, robbed of his instrument,
strums, instead, the gilded blue dark sea.
Gulls float above his sound
like the notes he’s playing.
Half composed, half imposed,
the relationship, a kind of wave oncoming.
There is a song that drowns neatly,
another hovers between white carnage, green carnival.
Melody sifts down like night,
kicks free as sand.