she left me with a pistol and a kiss,
her bare ankles still wet with sand
her hat at her side in a trembling hand.
the shouts of her men rose above the gulls
calling for their captain to take the helm;
how did I come to be where I am,
standing on a lonesome beach with naught but
my heart in her hands?
think of me when the tides turn, she would whisper
though her eyes were already on the horizon.
I never wondered where she went,
for she always returned home
following the writing in the sand.