The Walk Well Is Doing

on the beach early in the morning,
chase of wave.
the dog is organising cheerful frolics,
and his master, is running more quickly,
than an age would point at it.

I am listening to the familiar noise,
at the shore I am gathering
a few delicate small
shells, still wet.

on the way I am treading
ruins, of the castle, made by children.
I am coming home with sand in shoes
and I have appetite like a wolf

for everything