art of buried treasure

Low tide.
I met the ocean in a brief hello,
as the water washed my feet cold.

Behind me,
black shell fragments and broken glass littered the sand.
"The trick is to look at the shapes," she said.

We wandered
through waiting pools that high tide left
and in the rivulets
running to reunite with the rising surf,
to pour into their lover's arms.

Sea glass,
rolled between sand and water,
edges rubbed smooth...
cracked bottles into glass-
and glass, to treasure
offered on ocean's alter.