On this beach at the end of the earth

we are stepping on glories, tripping over them,

returning to each other with arms full

of objets d’art – sunbright orange sponges,

amethyst sea urchins astonishingly whole,

brides’ bouquets of viridescent sea ribbons

their nap lush as kitten’s ears,

smiling scallops robed in mulberry pearl,

apricot conches abrim with ocean reckonings

and more, and more. Piling them on a driftwood chaise,

we show and stroke, admire, recall, and are quieted.

Low snow on kunanyi in blazing winter sun,

salt and wet weed zinging in the air. 

I forget the words I want.