Tethered in sand, sharks fly
among parafoils and Day-Glow dinosaurs
in a sky lit half by a gravid moon,
half by the sun sinking
into a molten bay.
Small hands hold fast to thin leashes
and voices rise up
in the valleys between waves.
Wind, sea, beach, the double-lit sky,
all poised on the hinge of night
in these moments before
the day passes westward
and the kites are reeled into
a hundred childhoods. 

From The Grace of Light (Finishing Line Press, 2004).
This poem first appeared in Potpourri Magazine.
Used here with the author’s permission.