To see the waves coming and going
is like hearing someone breathing.
She inhales and pulls her might out into the depths,
then exhales and sends it all back to shore.
Along the way the water scours the earth,
pulling whatever is loose and free,
tugging with her strength.
In that fluid, reflective surface are the colors of the sky,
the thick chocolate of the mud,
and the foaming bubbles.
Left in the wake is the dark,
and billions of small shells.
I stand there on the edge as my feet
crunch against all those bits and pieces
soon tries to match
the rhythm of the waves.
Hearing my breathing
seeing the waves
come and go.