Old and new,

deteriorating

renewing.

Infused with sand and sun,

the pure joy of a beach culture,

the casual health and beauty.

Effortless white clouds above

and on the ground,

textures without end.

Inspiration in a cycle

as constant as the waves

rolling in tubes toward the shore.

Sweet cava sangria fizzes,

alternately spicy roast pimento

burn green on our tongues,

we stare out over the Beleariac sea.

A sweet moment,

forever embossed in our minds,

its raised form a kind of braille

to bring us back there when we wish,

just by smoothing our attention

over the memory.

Back it floods carrying us with it

just as a surfer slides into shore.