This pink pen & this pink poem, are born without being on mainland;

this piece's words, and now their home, still written in remorseless sand.

On beaches like these, markers are found; and  at Gibraltar's point it's somehow wound...

...up, so that these words of mine, carefully crafted, maycleverly shine:

May's final beams of copper light,
scintillate, their dancing,
till the water meets the night.