The ocean grinds its art
In mastery of loneliness.
It calls us all to look
And turn away.
The rocks arrange
Like blossoms of applause
For the wash of crystalline
Distance.
So many voices silenced
To the one
That uses every word
To be silent.
Only that can counteract
The long stare
For meaning, away from the crowd
And their noise.
Waves of people tumble through
The cities.
This churn seems to sympathize.
Tides go in.
Tides goes out. The bristling force
Of the collective
Subsides to holes that still wait
To be filled
Where irregular battalions
Shine their scars,
Waiting to die for beauty
Or for truth
Or whatever makes a life alone
Worth living.
The voice that dissolves it
Leaves it naked and longing.
