High tide

want to let it go,
all that should have been,
all the places it could have expanded into.  
I want to drop it like a stone
on a shore full of stones,  
kick it along, under a moon  
the shape of seafoam surrounding  
a stone,  
and when no one is about,  
when no one comes 'round,
I want to cry about it,
just once,
holding my hand over my mouth
so I don't make a single sound,
and then be done with it,  
but apparently  
it doesn't work like that.  
I think I know more about coastlines than humans.