On Plum Island, on its uninhabited
beach
at the Parker River Wildlife
Refuge,
I walk an abiding way along the
shore
while gazing at substantial waves
arising
from an outwardly serene Atlantic
Ocean.
They form a never-ending line of
succession
as ray upon ray ignite in flame and
seafoam.
I stop where weather-beaten sands
had shifted
fashioning a sandy cape from where
I watch
the waves both to my left and there
before me.
Witnessing the row of waves in
profile,
I feel as one arising with them,
seeing myself as curl in an
evolutionary crest
as that enlightening crash
dissolves
the wave of all the universe—
we then return to sea.
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