Red crabs scuttling

Upon the stones

To the salt sea spray

Of the rauccous waves

Children selling happiness

In plastic windmills

Perched atop soapy water

Blowing bubbles that melt

Small faces wreathed in smiles

The lovers exchanging notes

Joggers on the run

Old couples saunter hand in hand

My hands clasp unclasp

Holding on to the sounds

The smell of channa zor garam

The dog pulling at it’s leash

As the day pulls away

As night throws on it’s veil

And I scuttle back

Into my sterile world.