Such beauty in motion, even more, still
They are said to roll, but it's rhythm
Forever inward even pulling away
The night comes in and they color darkly
Calmest before the storm, but only surface
Deep within unmoved, dark, heavy

watch them
Like newborn children
watch to maturity
they reach the shore
Minutes, hours, lifetimes
People live and die
As they reach the shore.
How many lives begin and end?

azure most beautiful before the storm
dressed in deep purple
The white edge, glimmer of moon,
In the ripples crest, unsheathing knife
As they swell, the honed edge grows
In the coming chaos, the metaphor
Will unwind, the edge will curl upon
Itself the sharpest blade magnified
Not smooth, gut rippled in
Imperfection. It comes
the shore
Loosing itself, the form gone
the material forever.
It becomes such things
Yet always is itself
unchanged, moving
The depth of a darkness immeasurable
Is not found down, but
At an angle.

crisp in air and sound
nightly waves breaking
the shore.
albuminous
Each rises and falls
Many, but all of one
cease at the edge
Yet always are
How many lives begin and end
As waves roll in?