The tide flows, flying in.
With its push comes a blend of snowflakes and sand
Becoming one with the crest of a wave in heaven,
First to polish the sky's virgin coat
As it sweeps gently over the feet of an angel.
With its pull comes the melting of the legend,
The myth that no two snowflakes hold symmetry,
Until, of course, they thaw back to their base,
Seeping into the sand as an angel slips into the sea.
The tide flows, flying out.