Billowing white sails steer about a ripply river,
Shimmering and tender twenty-somethings diving in, bobbing up,
and throwing their still elastic bodies back in again.
At the bottom, oyster shells cause some soles to run red pools,
It doesn’t stop the repetition of the plunging and resurfacing.
Persisting wind proliferates, paddles advance whitecaps,
Vicenarians cartwheel in and blithely spend their sunny days.
Schooling fish race ‘round to no end, breaching the surface,
Returning underneath, then kissing air again.
Blissful and prancing, green minds are unaware,
The sun will soon rise in the absence of their languidity,
Another day, another small soul bleeds in their place.