A prayer
is hope
is a new day
is the wet sourgrass and
a subtle lifting of the heart.
A sunrise
is new eyes
and a zephyr
not a torrent:
the feeling of slow growth.
These Monterey cypress trees are not
impatient,
nor are they quivering
with the anxiety of new love.
This wide blue sky is not topsy-turvy
with the fluctuations of the heart,
and the sighs of budding romance.
The sand beneath my feet here
on this wide and empty beach,
has its own wisdom,
its own time,
its own life cycle.
Wash, it says, into the sea.
Wash, it says, baking in the sun.
Stillness is a myth,
and waves must be waves,
ridden through the crests
and the troughs.
And - at least this morning -
the currents that flow inward
and the currents that flow outward,
come from sources unknowable.
They may be danced with
or I may be dragged,
but their scope
and their depth
and their breadth
is not mine to know.
But the sea
and the lilies
and the sea
and the lilies
and the broken sticks
and detritus on the beach
are as much mine this morning
as they are yours.
-La Selva Beach, CA - 2022
