The sea rushes in
But quietly in the night
To make her mark
And state her limits.
The moon has asked this of her
And she will comply
But only this far;
Inside the line, she says
I will come again
But until then
You may stand over there
And be assured of warmth
From the source of all you know.
All lines are real
At least in our heads
And sometimes around our feet
In the regular beat
Of her sandy heart.
whoisfenton 