Water Woman

The sea crashes upon the shore,
Constant, rythmic music
Like the heavy breaths
Of some slumbering goddess
In the deep.

White foam races across
Smooth wet sand like a
Veil of bridal lace
Over the face of the waves
That sway like a gentle waltz
On a deserted stage.

Tiny colored shell
Sit on the beach like
The painted, pointy nails
Of rich ladies who click
Down busy streets in
Tall heels and diamonds.

Round stones tumbled to
Perfection by the surf
Rest in the warm sun
Like the curves of
The women who crisp golden brown
On their towels.

The sea does not need these
Ornaments of mortal women,
Bridal veils and painted nails
And tan curves displayed in bikinis.
No, the sea is raw, elemental, pure.
The ocean is the cold spray
Of salt, the wide horizon,
The dark blue depths
Where everything is silent and mysterious.
It is a magician who folds eons of
Time and space and life
Into a single sparkling drop
That tastes of salt as it
Rolls away from my lips.