Swaying, groaning, rising, dying – still.

Each wave slides gracefully
along the sand grown soft from
time and the kneading surf
a hundred billion grains lie
side by side as brothers, even
those hewn from strange rocks.
Sol looms large, and its foil Luna is
only a few hours away, off the edge of the Earth –
changes far too subtle to see, dwarfed
by the wild palms
swaying, groaning, rising, dying

Author: AJM

Writer, sociologist, Unitarian Universalist.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: