A shadow on the beach

Yes, it is night,

but there is enough light 
to make a shadow on the beach, and I 
wonder what would happen if it were mine, and 
it was taken out to sea 
by a tidal wave that 
only grew with the waning moon?

What would happen if it stayed there,

as dawn broke day and it baked

under the half-cracked sun? I imagine it

building a raft of saccharine sweat,

floating and hallucinating, communing

with dolphin shamans and hypocritical sharks

who floss their teeth, white as

mint. I see the shadow wilting and

proselytizing, shouting and pleading to an

unseen host, capsized by a sweaty bow

and entering the trough, filling its

lungs with hollow sounds,

and a seagull waits

to fill its

beak.