Till the moon comes again.

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Time it is, the tide to turn.

Pull of the moon, pull of the moon.

Gently stirring and drawing to itself.

The sea swelling and lifting,

Swelling and lifting.

Raising up and letting go,

Raising up and letting go.

Waves rolling in to kiss the beach.

Rolling  kissing, rolling kissing.

Driving up and dragging back,

Driving up and dragging back.

Sorting, sifting, pushing up,

Sorting, sifting, pushing up.

Leaving high and dry,

Assorted scraps of dross,

Glistening like morning dew.

Dragging back the shingle.

Moving into memory.

Dragging,  moving, dragging, moving.

Ripping off the bottom, driving along,

Ripping, driving, ripping, driving,

To throw onto some distant shore.

Wind rising, waves rolling,

Wind rising, waves rolling.

Surf flowing down the crest,

Back up and out ahead,

To dive back in…

Shattered…

Exausted…

Done…

Till the moon comes again.

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7 thoughts on “Till the moon comes again.

      1. Both. This post in particular and the blog in general evoke very particular sensory details, but, as your blog says, the tao that can be spoken of is not the tao, that is, open-ended ideas don’t necessarily have to be concluded. Sometimes ideas better than the ones we had previously come along, and when we’re talking about big ideas I appreciate someone who admits he doesn’t have all the answers.

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