I tan myself.
I am hide.

This happens for sand.
I'd like to think I am

immune. I'm moon
not sun, but then...

I think: Kittyhawk
where hawks swoop

down and eat the kitties.
We fly kites because of

wind. Two brothers
grazed the dunes

here. To tan is not
my friend Sam's tan.

No closer am I to
brown. Earth. Sun.

Icarus me--burn
me down from this.

This me, drowning
in this me. I am hide--

so gull-unlike, so
flightlessly white.