Dry Eyes

Walking on warm sand
to the water's edge
where my feet cool,
remnants of crashing waves
creep, disappear,
leave new patterns
washed away
by the next ebb and flow.

Sitting in the shallows
feeling the vestiges
of the roiling sea
wash over and around,
taking a piece
of me each time it leaves.
I lean back,
in anguish, relish the theft.

Reaching out to touch
the foam, like melting crystals,
salty, as expected,
like tears used to be
when I had any
and now gone.
Stolen by the sea from
where they came?
Or life's lot just used up?