The sea cycles, roars and quiets,
Ebbs, flows with my soul between
Disquiet and on-the-edge surrender
To the beauty who threatens
To engulf the din in my head
And leave me, again,
As small as the vastness
That creates us both.
The seasound is but
The small, inconsequential
Manifestation of the greater force
That sucks the waves back in,
And absconds with the senseless
And exhausting identities
We erect, precariously,
Like a card house,
Around the intuition that we
Are smaller than we are told we are,
And just as small
As we need to be.
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