palm trees ⏳

Seagulls in the distance troddling around. All the swimsuits daring a little too much.

Please let us have some quadfold chairs and if today is the end then some amber bottles too.

Sun radiating off sanded asphalt all linking staggered isles — dotted in annual patrons paying respects to Summer and her angels through umbrella shrines and sandals. This is the main occasion where a Jeep makes a sensible purchase.

Passing by the young couple under the palm trees with their shy clasp of hands.

On the rockier Pacific maybe one climbs some staggered cliffs with driftwood splashing. Southeast side leaves an emerald glow for the Gulf. A good place for scrappy planes. Pass some sound-barriers for our dear Yeager.

On this immortal day we can wait for the sunset. And in that sunset we can make our set, digging some sand burial. Let’s toss in anime figurines as trinkets for the life beyond.

Bike tires need a little inflating, and the beach shops need a little visiting. Maybe the thermometer plastered on the propped out door could serve as the convostarter.

In the night balm so the constellations call out. Torches to totems all cradling a village for the evening; that’s when the eyes sparkle the most.

On the distant beach side, with everything between as company, maybe that’d be the place to evict the soul. Fireworks to evict too; letting sudsy waves illume with each launch. Sieving knuckles through the sand to link each other’s fingers for a final night.

As midnight strikes so your hand falls through another, and another too, only threadbare: nothing to grasp for this see-through existence. Smalltalk and laughing all but fading and smiles to blend within the soaked ink, speckled by home’s starlight.

Until it’s only you on the beach. Maybe waiting for dissolution.

Rewind a thousand years hence, a thousand years in store — whether between apocalyptic concrete vines or sand dunes for a biome’s dying breath — you’ll see still some patrons paying respects to our Summer divine. Squint enough to spot the patrons you knew that evening.

Waddle on over to know for a thousand years more.