receptive sand
and the sky is a vast cerulean sea
lounging above the sharper blue-gray
of the Pacific.
Sitka spruce are a patient punctuation
beside the cleft
where tides whisper and ring.
I am a still sentinel, singing
my silent chants to the
ocean's slow metronome.
This is a place to release, let go,
carve a channel for the new. . .
Hard feelings roll away
like the wise beam turning its circles
from the North Head lighthouse
balancing on its one wide leg
atop the rocks
that shave themselves into the sand
resting beneath my welcoming spine.
J. Pratt-Walter
(c) 2014
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