Kites seek the wind here,
sea oats practice 
their patient sway
to rhythms of seasons and years.
Dunes rise from the sand,
carved in a sculptor's caress
who would dare to dream
of creation on a scale
of unbounded distance.
A seagull holds in the breeze,
wings stretched wide like a lover's arms,
both share their unspoken word to the wind,
"come to me",
while the morning sun 
still raises its eyes to the clouds.
Shells dot the sandshelf 
in places the ocean
swept them last night,
flowing promises of return.
Maybe the sand still remembers 
the footsteps, small hands
building impermanence, leaving marks
of hearts drawn with names underneath,
carvings of hopes and small dreams,
that are washed away daily,
both us and this place bowing
at different paces 
to what finds us and binds us both...time.
Jon Bohrn (2000)



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