Cape San Blas, Port St. Joe

Rough shards wave the shore, she pounds a fist on the ground shadows from the sun tread lightly disturbing sand enough to stir. The wash of salt water soaks tiny feet, too scared to trample further. The waves swallowed her whole. The night white ran against silver as the moon contests foam. Clams sucked away in the current gazed at her, wondering if they were next. Water gushing through sediment holes She sought to plant clams in the dunes where sunsets dye the air pink and dark never comes. She wouldn’t be back. As she wades across the sand-moore, she spies nothing but clams and empty shells.