Heading for Shore

THE WAVE IS A CLICHE'


Ebbing and flowing,
the horizontal sky fills with the sea,
carrying myths and detritus.

Here floats again
the broken cup,
heading for shore alongside whitened bones,
hollows filled with sand and sea glass.

Fear,
or is it hope
that rides the waves?

Fear,
or life itself
the buoyancy?

A switch in my brain
makes physical all my dreams,
finds my soul's laughter.

When I wrap my arms around you
I embrace the air.
Gone so soon?

A far speck of sunlight on the horizon,

you again swim to shore,

telling yourself this fear is good.

I do the same.