I watched dwindling sands
holding on to footprints
as evening tide began
for ebbing waves invite freedom,
ventures near water's edge.
And sets of prints of seeming twosome
crossed barriers, sunset's lowered ledge
by looks of them, two walked close this way
to a certain spot to stop and watch
a different miracle that happens every day;
and by the sight of sand and water
some words of meaning fell, like empty rays
upon retreating surf, and then there were
but one set of markings circling to north
while another
turned inland,
to the sparse grass in hilly folds
rising up to cliffside houses, and
the road to town; water trying to hold
the impressions left by dainty feet
gone uphill, trail gone cold;
while bruising mallet marks repeat
on sand and away pacing tense,
have followed me ever since.
Gold trophy winner
Honorable mention
Adding your comment:
This whole poem is one great image - I love the idea of water trying to hold footprints. Really brilliant. 
Joyce 
I was co-judge to Liz this time around. All the wonderful entries made it hard to judge and I mean that. I wish we could give more than one gold. LOL
Not fair to do this to me. Oh my goodness. I LOVED THIS. 
Can simply say no more.... ~Pamela 
