The sun was the last thing to leave him;
the loss not lost on him, yet.
Not even the beach brought him peace of mind,
one more boundary for the sea to transgress.
The sky? A waste of a canvas!
The beach but a smashed hourglass.
Let it be! said he, watching sea-grass grow.
All things must pass.
Then he fell, parallel to the ocean.
Blink. Enveloped in black.
Waves tear at the spot where his feet were once planted
for that of all things brings him back.
All things must pass.