|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) ("Pervasive Transport")