A widow and long retired teacher of art,
she spends her evenings barefoot on the beach.
With each step, she leaves a print of lavender.
Resting her weight on her thin left leg,
she draws broad arcs in the sand
with the ball of her right foot,
some of peach, some of powder blue.
Her right thumb and forefinger are tattooed,
indelible sunsets from years of grasping
the chalklike crayons of pastels.
The very beach on which she stands
is chalklike, a quiet place where,
smearing itself gorgeously away
in the nacreous majesty of dusk, sweeps
the softly crumbling crayon of her body.
Grey Sparrow Journal 