A Poem for Heather....

I sit in the sand
buried toes
dirty hands
and I think...

and I think and I think and I think...

of a promise I made
to write you a poem
poetically tragic? it could be quite freeing
or an empowering line
about my well being...

so I think and I think and I think...

I think I see a creature
crawling quite near
he'd be wise to stay away from my beer...

So I think and I drink and I think some more...

I can think of no answers
no profound lore
but as I sit in the sand
buried toes, dirty hands,
I think... I am happy.