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.