Tide left a graveyard of whispers, through mouths of shells she called haunting ribs of dunes upon once we stopped time by rolling on its golden bones till joined like midnight hands. I awoke alone to a black tide. Its limbs spewed times hands. Her watch had stopped at ten to eight as I was sleeping she drowned surfacing again through my eyes finding my lips again as she fell, leaving salt on open wounds. Now I return at ten to eight to throw her watch to the sea, and curl upon our mesquite dune crying into midnight hands but knowing she returns as the tide draws close to me.