Reaching into the foamy lace
orbs of white moving like a waltz
slipping through fingers
shell game of catch me if you can.
Above, the moon peers from thickening mist
casting shadows on white dotted rippling sand
as the tide moves in,
beating on packed sand like a soft drum beat,
For the touch of sweet Luna,
oceans move high and low.
I hold up the fragile gift,
round spiral to center drawing eyes inward
to reflections on things made over time
worn smooth around the edges
the passage began with one speck,
protein built on moving ground growing
encapsulated in itself,
She watches me walking there,
in the depths of the sea
swirling around my legs
like the grooves of this shell
moving round to an end,
like she herself,
the same logic applies
and I just continue moving forward,
searching for treasure in reflective light beaches,
alone with my thoughts
on moon shells and things left behind
deposited on land
For the joy of a traveler of time.
Beautiful Luna was hiding this morning, cool chill fills the air as I dream of beaches of white sand and shells that find me waiting.