Our bikes are weaving between daffodils
The air is filled with salt and bugs and heat
We move up and then towards the pebbled hills
Shoes will fall but sand clings to toes and feet

We have left others beside the road to wait
For our return though we cannot leave yet
We reach the sun we reach past the white gate
Our knees are scrapped our elbows barely wet

Mothers with soft or long dark hair follow
They move the rocks that line the road and sigh
The homes with yellow eyes wink out and glow
They are not ours filled with starlight from high

This day is gone and left by the seashore
I can open a shell and hear once more