The Joy of the Tide

The Sea

I once believed

love was a tap left on

an outpouring that never stopped

and anything less – a trickle, a drop –

was not.

Now I think

I had it all

wrong.

Who needs plumbing

when you have an ocean to dip your toes into?

I may still hold my breath

when the tide is out

and the walk to the water is long;

I may still worry

about my feet sinking into

the muddy flat, about

getting stuck

where I am

without rescue,

but the moon has it all in hand.

Just as the sand seems a desert

dry with thirst

the tide comes in

spreading its fingers

tenderly over the face of the beach

as if to say:

I am here, I never left,

my love is constant, expansive

just look up at the sky to know it’s true.

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