The wind breaks
promises
and I storm off
in bitter retreat,
sucking out the sour
isolation...
And the shoreline
waves
recognizing its relationship
with the timeline
inevitable as the tides turn
over
Revealing
what has been there
and who is dancing at the edge
unafraid
of falling in
for a pearl.
It comes in waves;
pain, sleep, sound, this feeling
the crashing is closer
becoming brackish
tumultuous and turbid for a trace
of gold
in every full glass
we see through
The warm breeze
blew away
our differences.
How easily mist
the rising and falling
of all things
may be made
more
than solid or whole,
as in part
of us
is always drowning
and becoming
one and the same.
Painting by Władysław Wankie (1860-1925) 'Fisherwomen on the shore', [Public domain].
