Skipping

It is always in slow motion
I dream of skipping
in a gingham dress.
Looking down at my legs
my feet bare
sinking slightly in sand.
The waves surging then retreating
on the beach
every third or forth skip.
My arms swinging wildly
fingers curled in
reaching high in front.
Heartbeat like an echo
not a beat
but just as sure.

It is honest work.