The Absent Moon

Long wisps of fog rise into thin and vanishing clouds; from the East an aromatic wind scatters the flattened and broken-shells-covered-sand as dampness enters the bones and makes these feet sweat, still my deep footprints are seen below the boardwalk where I sat. Lovers hold hands and seek out their friend hiding somewhere beyond the swaying palm trees that seem to engage in a monotonous dance; they feel that no August night should be without the round, glaring moon... but before the morning star arrives, they will be wondering if it will appear soon.