She stood in brackish waters
with trousers rolled to the knee.
The hard rains hammered down,
and drenched her, and stormed her.
With an unreadable line from
her forehead to the tip of her nose,
silver with the water, she turned
and beckoned to us with her hand.
We stopped and stared,
standing on the sand dunes,
then beginning to descend
with large, lilting steps,
and tumbling down into the sea --
she caught us in her arms.
He sat on the soft sands,
when the showers ended,
both hands bent at the wrist
to prop himself up.
The scent of the foilage
green and dewy, wafted by.
His chin was like a slipper of the moon.
He sang a siren song in the quiet night,
that purple night, leaking twilight.
We sat on the rocks and listened,
instead of running away, we realised
we had the beach to ourselves.
A/N: Hi there, prospective reviewer! If you're looking for something to comment on, I'd really like to know what you think the 'story' or the 'message' is with this poem. I also have a question for you: what are your general impressions about the 'she' and the 'he' in this poem? Are they more similar or more different? What are those differences and similarities? Many thanks for reading!