I'm a pale intruder on an unknown beach
My back to the water, my feet in the sand
Finding no recognition as each sign of life 
Invades the precision of this aging land

An abandoned flipper in a world of storms
There's a man on the shoreline with a white parakeet trying to make his bird go home

With increasing continuity endless space 
Gazes 'round the periphery not disheartened,wearing it's most inexpressible face

My instinct is double as the waves roll by
But my vision is halved and the foam in the green as the insects talk to the blazing sky

Wax in the ear, stitch in the side, wolves are feast for the blind
Under and over, the why and the wherefore, easy to sit back with time
Driving discussions like cranes through the car park setting them all in a line
All interceding, not yet proceeding, misleading doubts in the mind

I'm a pale intruder on an unknown beach
My back to the water, my feet in the sand
Needing no recognition as each sign of life 
Invades the precision of this aging land