If you see the ocean made, not of sea,
But of waves, a rolling liquid landscape,
then the struggle on the earth becomes apparent to a poet’s eye.
One wave small another tall;
all rushing towards that selfsame goal:
Some lonely, distant, sandy coast.
The frothy salt stings as it races,
hurling threats along its way.
But does it not know that death lies upon the rocks?
Even the sand it yearns for is unyielding and melts away their marks.
Who could know the faces of the waves?
Yet you remembered me.
When the swirling pool of humanity
jerked me away, your hands my fear suppressed.
And because of your faith in something greater than the Sea,
time and again, you have rescued me.