The Cockle Shell (1)

The little boy washed his footprints with the fade of the tides in the sand. The sun over his head. He ran away from home to find someone to love him. Like the lamb his mother talks about in her sleep. Crabs skittering sidelong with the waves; foam in the rocky inlets, shampoo for his wild, dark hair. The light catching on a mother-of-pearl underbelly of a tiny cockle shell. Now he has a friend to share his road. The beach his far escape, the ocean an uncrossable barrier. His father once said We solve problems by marching ahead. No matter what comes.