The Ocean Street

A hand of gossamer slipped into mine,
silk which I then twirled above my head.
Without a move from me, it hung supine,
unraveled like a limp, dejected thread.
We danced as if with waves, the rise and fall
Defining where we stepped, he in his thrall
as tides hissed o'er the sand and to our feet
that surged and dipped along the ocean street.