Reflections in the Sand

I'm in reflection again a rear window spy in the solitude of speechless silence at this hour, we are a poem, a cloud, no, prints in the sand, where we went when us was awakening like the mercies of a brand-new morning. Across the brown beach, tiptoed, as burrowing crabs dived, evading the wading birds- mostly egrets, and the tides flared their nostrils with the fanfaronade of prissy white brides vanishing our trail