Evening at the Seaside.

Light beckons over

expeditious hues

of green and blue. The

gleam jumps to catch the

next by the time it

arrives. Strong and

translucent. The sound of

a swish confirms a

destination now

fulfilled, an unchained

descendant of

yesterday, last year,

a million years

ago. Swish. The next

arrives, then the next,

and then the next

(exactly) at the

same spot where the light

reaches out and the

beams flicker for dear

life. Swish. Skimm over

the top. Perfection:

an adaptation,

interpretation.

A once familiar

face, always unique

and never alone.