Deep sea waits, flexing its’ fingers as it looks skyward
Logs glisten in the sun, freshly rained on – hopeful
Pebbles wait softly sighing in the wake of the tide – mournful
If I stand on tiptoe I can see the sea faraway
And in my dreams feel the wet thunder rolling deep.
I look back to my desk 3000 miles away renewed
The salt air fresh across the years
and friendships
-ml’23