“Murmur of a Conch Shell” by Isabel Adams

summer always meant:

seersucker freedom

splashed with laughter

and the sunscreen-slathered laziness

of sandy towels and stiff hair

and flying kites with

seagulls above the swells.

delicate sunburns brush against

sheets nearly damp with salt

that whisper dreams in carefree

ears along with the crash

from beyond the dunes.