I juggle with words but
They fall through my fingers
Like grains of sand.
It’s the beauty of the ocean
Before me, zapping any thoughts
That floate to the surface.
I sit, unmoving.
The only thing still in this storm of elements.
The tide playfully tickles my feet,
Drifting in and out of my toes.
I could be a rock -
Slowly being eroded
Until my hard skin is washed to the sea leaving
A softer, untouched shell.
I sit, in awe of the strong, lively waves
That tempt my toes to dance their way to the horizon.
I would be like a ballerina from Swan Lake,
Gracefully poised on tip toes
With hands joined as in prayer.
At home on the wave when
It arches my back to envelope me
So that I collapse, a rag doll.
Blown by the wind and thrown by the waves,
Unable to breathe and,
Like my words,
Unable to reach the surface.
Finally then, I would be at home on the wave -
Never to return to land.