Left with nothing

I did,

Barefoot

Against the crashing edge of the world.

What is there that is not against my skin

Or in my eyes that I need?

The wind is confirmation

For the way of things:

Be nothing

That can’t be blown away.

The sand is strewn

With what was once wanted.

The gull

Is graceful scavenger,

The beach ours,

Together walking, bearing nothing.

She is hungry,

I am weightless,

On the edge of things,

            Collecting stones.