Synesthesia

          Mist veiled sky and seawall,
          an expanse of ocean, gray
          as the fading sight
          of soaring wings.
          The tourists have gone home.

          White sand as hard as rock
          beneath booted feet
          lines  winter's frozen shore
          and yet
          August voices resound.

          Tang of salt scent escapes
          the ice, recalls sunny days
          of summer fun
          as sounds of laughter
          ring  in memory's  ears.