Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Some waves break over years, some over weeks, like these of cream, from pink buds slow-foaming, through cool, drizzle-days the blackbird sleeks, we hope for intervals of bees free-roaming.
Though where waves break they wish to smooth all out, that this year's now might banish all before; yet treasuring minds are memory-stout: a furrowed brow's no palimpsest foreshore;
and yet we do let go, let time run free - our fingers part; wind litters blossom through, and if we never drained our cup of tea, how could we ever fill it up anew?...
until the longest of our waves must break, scattering all our days within its wake.
