Today
I am whitewash
wanderer
waxing somber silence
engulfing sillouettes
coveted from agendas
on the edge of everything
it is okay to be lost
The tide is mellow now
its wild sputter no longer
trying to talk over the sun
it has one steady direction
shore
sunlight said
silence
just reflect
and the waves were calm
and the water beamed
The tide doesn't count her waves
they just come crashing
leaving rough jagged clefts in sand
sometimes licking softy
slick shallow pools of shore
the sand doesn't count lost granules
gathered up and thrown out
to float and spiral down
eventually, into that deep dark
or perhaps be swept back up
I dip my days in ink
tallying until they bleed into one another
a bigger mess than it seems
throw me to the tide
where I can stop counting
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