On an expectant full-moon night

The breezy evening light

 Leaving inhibitions on the shore

I dig my feet into the sand

Writing the words of hope in anticipation;

The distant roar of the tides

I hear with a shudder but

The waves come calmly –

Collective messenger in manifestation;

Gathering words, rinsing feet and

Depositing strange travellers

Living and dead to hope in anticipation;

The spreads of blue with no distinct line

Past, present and future a transcendental straight line

I devour spontaneity

Layers of washed sand visuals

The mystic sea, resplendent.