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

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