He rakes the sand
with thick wooden rake
wearing sweat stained clothes
and sandpapered jackets
that defy the sun.
His dark eyes disappear
unnoticed under the shadow of hat.
No smile but always “hola”
while tourists move in their
self-absorbed bubbles
Hours slide like the slow
heavy drops of sweat
that sting his eyes
as he carves, sculpts
sifts out debris,
swirls grains
recanvases.
The hollowed shell
of his body bent over
in a slow crawl
tongue touching
tequila and lime
crusted lips.
With circular sweeps
he enshrines the sand.
moving steadily outward
arching spirals
toward the sea.
Drawn towards
concentric mounds
I see shells centrally
placed offered
with sanctimony.
I witness this consecration.
He moves on
heat waves distort
his figure
arms and legs become unhinged
disconnected.
and dissolves into the sea.
© 2017, Michele Riedel
The BeZine 
I could see this man so clearly! What an interesting observation – those who see the people in the background, who watch the mostly ‘unseen’ can sometimes get a glimpse of amazing things. Thank you for sharing this with us this month.
LikeLiked by 1 person