The lapping sea upon the sand,
its ebb and flow so relaxing,
like time is waxing with each bubbled wash,
receding into its endless scope of life,
and I sit upon a billion grains of sand,
crystals in myriad colors,
and know this microcosm is but a glimpse
of the macrocosm I’m within.
As skies vast and in subtle hues
strong to fading in sunlight’s blessing,
eternity begs attention,
no ending to this procession,
as clouds strewn like wisps of air
patterns crossed then burgeoning,
as if the wanted plumes of adornment,
placed and angled just so.
The wind caresses flesh,
the sting of salt and flighted sand,
that freshness of the ocean spray
enlivens mind to words
of such respect and adoration,
this life so filled with beauty,
each aspect more beguiling than the first,
and too much to overwhelm a soul of thirst.
Gulls hover still, the updraught
like an outstretched hand beneath their belly,
as free as they could be,
aloft and stretched wings so wide,
each feather touched by evening tide,
as they call a lonely cry,
as if to mark this moment,
leave nothing to chance, to hide.
As the sun begins its downward arc,
and clouds gather, their golden lining to mark
the easing of the day,
as winds pick up and smother land
the ascending heat near done,
the slow rising chill attest the parting sun,
and the gloaming rays splay out
like a fan upon the horizon.
Choppy the sea, now taunted by the wind,
the rise and fall of whitened crests
give patterns to the darkening depths,
and the lapping seems more earnest,
time pushed to a faster din,
as evening does infuse the sky
and people leave to seek their shelter,
another day in fading sigh.
Tony DeLorger © 2018