I have a song in my head of waves
tumbling to the shore, a millennial
artwork, building, rising and then breaking
down, only to slide back and rebuild once more.
The crystal topped crests sparkle under a
bright sun, swirling with bejeweled delight,
while the moon paints them with silver.
It’s where I can hide in the open,
oblivious to those nearby. A place
always more than it ever was.
Roger Singer 