Slashes of pale
blue behind clouds.
While, wind and tide repeat the pattern
of things bumping into one another.
A metronome, all ticking without end.
Who can fathom where it began.
I thought last night,
ocean waves combine
in sound and no sound,
they comprise,
tides, to meditate and listen
for the silence in the crashes.
Purling crests in sweet diminuendo
rolling toward waiting shores,
collapsing in a crescendo
of midnight murmurs, only heard
by being there beside them.
And while I am not
there, I hear the marching echelons.
I hear my soul in harmony
with a distant melody.
There is always music rising from
white caps on the sea.
I can be distant
and I can be near all at once.
This is how we listen to music
and the interwoven
sound and no sound of the waves.
You understand.
