to bridge them from the reef to the shore
reflecting stones like clouds etched in glass
& something generic like a rainy day
the phone lines down, the wet pavement
too much like the sky
Waves groom the sand the rocks precisely placed
by tides & time
untouched by human hands
palm trees sliding into view, with bells or
harmonicas scratching deep inside expoding lungs
the snap & shuffle of an ordinary deck of cards
These are the sounds that hold the morning together
bending in the wind against the light
like funhouse mirrors under water
