Curracloe

A milky dream-like sky pouring into the sea, the wind,
Ushering it to empty.
Patterns in sand crafted by angels,
Memories anchored in place.
Mounds, dunes, like sculptures of the renaissance,
Wind-crafted balconies.
Beach to Forest,
Like lovers fingers intertwined in an everlasting grip.
Light hearts, small feet
And though both grow heavy and in size,
The sand still sticks to bare legs,
And you think to the time when you learned, here,
To wait, to dry, so sand would fall off.
It was here you were built.

Crafted by angels.