There's a sharp wind blowing,
cracking the sea and
smashing it on the shore
and riding through the ruins
are the kite surfers pulled by nets
that catch the wind,
bending from its weight;
but it always slips away
so when the fishing's finished
the empty nets collapse,
and have nothing now to show
for all the work they did
or all the wind they caught.
All that's left are memories
stuck in the folded fabric
with grains of sand and salt.