Tiding

 

Spinning

beneath sea soaked feet,

rough and glassy grains leave hollows

as they tumble, a sandy swirl,

into the rounding.

 

If you listen to their leaving —

this grainy rattling of what was —

all the rumblings of the deeps 

join the hum:

 

start 

again.

 

When you sink into

the gravity 

of each eroded

spark,

a universe beckons, 

brimming

 

as the sun sets fire to a 

restless sea

and clouds brood above

like smoke —

 

even then, 

within a flower-stained sky,

the tender moon encircles 

your rising.