Smooth black rocks

mottle the sandy shore of taupe.

Finest shore on the East Coast — Kennebunkport,

they say.

Wet sand squeezes between

my toes,

liberates my feet.


I regulate myself

to sea rhythm.

as my soul sinks

in to the sand —

deeper than my feet.

The sun slips lower and lower

in the sky,

spilling glistening orange juice

on the seam between earth and heaven

before the sea swallows her.

How extravagant

to be engulfed by the ocean.

Ambling on the shore,

I deliberately

drink the sea water, it is medicine.

The city has made sick,

lavished her serious business on me.

I barely scan the sand below

my feet for sea treasures.

I must concentrate vision

on the wider

wisdom of the rolling waves.

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