Time blunders on unceasingly
as it throws me and flows me under ….
High tide, low tide, endless waves
ebb back and forth, leaving
white foam in scalloped swirls
like diluted soap suds
or bedspread ruffles.
Standing in the sands, filigree
clinging to my feet, I sadly
watch the waves
play their monotonous game.
Some souls say,
having once caught a glimmer
of moonlight on nighttime swells,
that the sea is divine.
All I can say is that the moon moves
the tides, and tide tickles my feet.
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