To Find Fullness
Not all beaches are all sand.
Some have rocks, shined-up by
wind and friends.
To the common eye,
they look as new as ever.
Washed over by waves that
instinctively express
their own freedom to be.
Poking holes at hollows
in the shore
before breaking
—into mist.
Incessant washing,
relentlessly in pursuit
of change to shallow things
that can be swallowed whole.
That is what familiar markers show.
There are those
who are low tide vulnerable.
They risk extinction.
Which is irreversible.
But the tide does not
turn and run away
because it is afraid.
It does so because it must respond
to flux commands
of higher power elements.
So, those who continue to exist
constantly struggle with an unpredictable sea
to survive for a new fate each day.
Hoping for only soft stirrings,
and not rage or sass.
Alternating back and forth
all day long
from near to far,
from remote to approachable,
from distant to touchable.
There is much stuff
submerged right below even a placid surface.
Always perilously close
to popping back to a sunny side,
with timing as rhythmical as mating.
The world of threats is mysteriously dark
and foreboding.
It is also mostly empty.