She makes her home,   She lives alone   By the seaside.   Her fingers comb;   She folds the foam   By the seaside.   She sits and sways;   She makes her way   To your insides.      What losses her choices.   The years pass;   Her longing ebbs and flows.   Her whole life a slow slide   Caught in the undertow   Of the night tide.      Her ear's soft cone,   Rosettes of folds   Like a seashell.   Her timid hands   Smooth out the sand   Where the sea swells.   Her tiny sighs   Cut through the night   Like a buoy bell.      What losses her choices.   The years pass;   Her longing ebbs and flows.   Her whole life a slow slide   Caught in the undertow   Of the night tide.