The Mariner

He piles the seashells in his bucket,

the waves crash in,

and he collects the songs and laughter

from the boardwalk,

locking everything

in his mariner's heart

His lighthouse eyes

allow the lost ships

to smash against the rocks

and sink into the depths

of his imagination

The mariner on the sand,

bucket full,

day ending,

waiting for morning once again.

He smells the salt spray

and the feces of

myriad birds

and the sweet aroma of little stands

nearby vending snacks and candy

and he piles still more shells.