Delicate Pastures

You want the waves to take you,
grasp the frail bones of your ankles
and pull you into delicate pastures.
The soft stones of the ocean wait
patiently to soothe your feet,
but the season of fire has you
shackled and buried in blistering sand.
You are alone with your assailant,
waiting for his glimmer to dull.
You will strike when the moon
takes breath, severing your manacles
in the welcome chill of the sea.