Water fills prints feet left in the sand
And only seafoam remains from the pull.
A moment passes
While it pops and shrinks like soda,
Then vanishes—
Retreating into the water

All coastlines seem to curve
Like the one at Paradise Cove
Only made recognizable by how left
                or right one is on the curve.

                                Further down
the edges whip back around
                                                and hide
                                                behind the fog.

I sat right on the curve
And watched you walk down the beach.
When the next tide washed away your footprints
You were gone