The Push and the Pull

Even here,

nestled far away

in the mountains,

what pulls at the sea

pulls at my salty

water logged body.

You there, boney white moon,

hiding behind the trees –

you not so sneaky culprit.

Regardless of phase,

cloud cover,

daytime or night,

a great tidal dance

you conduct,

rising across beaches,

surging within these veins

(and not once, but twice daily).

I will go about this business,

stack my firewood,

then stir the stew.

Meager my praise

when life itself

the perpetual applause

for your unending encore.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *