Finders keepers

You’d think he is trying to flatten the entire beach

Swish-swooshing left and right and back like a flat pendulum

Or a fallen longcase clock that would defy gravity

Tirelessly penduluming the length and width and breadth

While the sun finishes his course and the moon begins hers

Only because the ocean deigns wane for a few hours

Only when those powers at bay forcing everyone home

But the odd flâneur with a keen eye for oscillations

— all of a sudden the sweeper stops because the clock clicked

Even though this may have only been his mistaken heart

Going wild over treasures which are both here and not here

But all he wants, really, isn’t finding the lost trinket

But digging the magic buried between the grains of sands.