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the souls of the dead passed me by
in between the moving shells
of another receding tide
time
holding onto their voices
against tree lined peaks
falling into brush
rocks
sand then surf
toward summer

children’s screeches met oncoming waves
between red and yellow flags
as parents gathered
content with their lot
hugging towels
surf craft
buckets filled with sand

youngsters
washed ashore
then pulled back out
crashing head long into another wave
as the ocean spoke
then drew out to sea
taking the souls of the dead
the surf
but not me