It is just another shore for some,
Another expanse of golden sand
Facing another volume of limitless water..
Their moments spent between the two
Have nothing to do with either the wisdom of waves
Or the patience of the sand..
For them, the ocean is an assumption.
Some know the moods of their ocean
By the dead creatures it spits on the beach..
Victims of the wrath of Poseidon perhaps..
Strewn about in beautiful, helpless designs on the sand..
They would admire the sparkling waves
For their infinity, their ability of making you insignificant..
For them, the ocean is power.
And then there are some, who are caught between
The shore and the sea, like the martyr jellyfish..
Observing the snake skins that the sunlight sheds
Between water and land; and how nothing is certain
But everything gets its say, its voice, its dance,
On the shimmering, dusky, seductive sand.
For them, the ocean is equilibrium.