Around me, sand is

I met a rich man who said to me,
he’d humbled the ocean, buying

still falling

shore, sea boats, houses,
conquering flags or

as if

piles of self-made
luck on the Golden State

as if independence

to own the beginning of blue,
he must’ve sold
all he was to attain

as if

the one who holds
the soul of a moon
with only a wave,

my American dream

sun’s closing act—this sea
fools me too, as if
I am the only one who knows her.

– Cynthia Clifford