The thing about the sea is: it is endless
and I am not. You:
roll to shore
and then away.
Here, from my driftwood throne,
I have been tossed up by you, for
your waves no longer touch my shore.
And the sea having come to visit me has gone,
but there are still the rivers, the streams
the chirping of birds in the coastal brush,
a peace all my own in the dawning dusk.