I rove where the shoreline loosens its sigh,
Where the tide unbuttons the hem of the sky,
And the wind writes secrets in salt and foam,
Calling the restless heart back home.
The clam breeze rises, tender and thin,
A silver whisper against my skin,
Carrying stories from ocean's keep-
Of pearls that wake and shells that sleep.
I rove through dunes with wandering feet,
Where land and longing quietly meet,
Each grain of sand a borrowed star,
Each wave a vow from somewhere far.
The clam breeze hums in a minor key,
A hymn of brine and memory,
It threads through ribs like a fragile tune,
Soft as dusk and pale as moon.
I rove, unmoored from clock and name,
Freed from the arithmetic of blame,
While gulls stitch white across the blue
And horizons split the world in two.
The clam breeze lingers-cool, precise-
Tasting of distance, salt, and ice,
And in its breath I learn to be
Both wave and wind, both shore and sea.
So let me rove till day is through,
Where the clam breeze shapes my heart anew.
