high tide approaches the silent beach
a sad stranger saunters with slumped shoulders
unevenly placed prints mark
the jagged dragging steps of nightly debauchery
no sound but slow labored breathing
padding the damp, humid air
lacking that usual gay spring
mildly drunken to cover bloodshot eyes
as blood drains from the flushed face
along jagged lines reminiscent of ephemeral prints
flow the now solitary soul
as steps turn to staccatoed sinuous lines
a chalked outline the finale
as the Moirae watch
the line of life disentwine
leaving the gods to reveal
an empty fountain,
a dry well,
an ironic metaphor for deaden birth
