Shards of Consciousness

We walk the sands, hand
touching hand. Muted
sounds of children spark
the sounds of the surf. We walk
and watch, silence between us.

We breathe the air, heads
nodding to the salt, our eyes
filled by the sun as
the surf flashes bright, then dark.
A castle is washed away.

We speak, then again.
Did you have a good day? How
was work? Lunch was good.
Nothing important. But all
is said. Your smile softly plays.

We walk the sands. The
surf washes away our tracks
as hand touches hand.