'Sunlight burns the grey clouds'

Sunlight burns the grey clouds
above the ashtray beach,
where, then, I ran the nineteen summers
of my sandy youth.

Sunlight burns the grey shrouds
of a late winter, glinting
in shreds of summers gone
into the small years.

Sunlight burns the grey crowds
that gather, with gaping mouths,
at the shining fountainhead
to feed.

Sunlight burns the grey, proud
men who spit sand and broken pebbles
into a cluttered world
and are done.