The waiting and watching
ever prolonged, never stopping
like the waves hit the shore
or sand swirls evermore

the salt-tangy breeze
and that heavy pressure unrelived
that calm before the storm
is how from death, there is reborn

From the sea, back to the sea
is how death is sometimes seen
or from the earth, back to her
I couldn't be sure

But the way the moon or sun
reflected on the blue of the waves
a shining thing, imperfected
doesn't that represent so much?

Perfection is chased
and never gained
something we should learn
but cannot be sustained
Who better to teach us
than our origins,
our oft denied mother, the sea.