Intaglio In Sand Poem by Patti Masterman

A dour witch casts a wave over girls lying on beach towels
But the girls are not real they are more like scarecrows
As immaterial as seaweed feels, and more salty than tears,
And the witch is more like a surly ocean
Being worshiped under a golden sun,
Curled in the misty arms of infinity.

And the wave is not an evil spell, it is more like a baptism
Of spirit into spirit, and matter flinging upon matter-
And the waves dashing themselves, breaking into molecules
And the unbalanced atoms sprinting, like a lifeguard race,
To rejoin with the air or the sea.

And the shadows are deepening to loosen more shadows,
Like the rings of Atlantis, that live on in pages of books,
Bound in mythical libraries, lying in sunken cities far beneath.
With shooting stars decorating the borders.

Storms randomly color the panorama, like pages crayoned by children,
Everything has a rare patina like reworked gold at sunset.
Scarecrows and mermaids keep turning back into one another:
One floats away, but the other might disappear for centuries.

The dreams of sailors keep everything fresh and alive;
And hidden streams of antimatter hold the waters in their basins,
And Starfish mark the portals of the nether-worlds:
Nothing lives here but was dreamed up by ancient gods of antiquity,
Who never could have believed once they were gods.