The wave has retreated farther, and
Father back, the shell left straddled
On itself, and all its dehydrated memories
It whistles like a night traveler: I have a dream
And I cannot wait to see what lies ahead
As if the content were fully sponged with
Consciousness, ready to evaporate into the sky
Along with the wind, it keeps rolling up ashore
Approaching human footprints, behind itself
The shell left a broken line, almost invisible
Like a trail left by another wave, trying
To accomplish a couplet or a marine stanza
Giving sense to wind:
How it came to be, and be here
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