That instant when you’re walking on the
Sand, the sand that contains seashells and
Stones and sandcastles built by children with
Hearts and minds soaked in seawater and salt is

The same instant that you look at the horizon
In glances of fleeting amusement and worry, the
Horizon that keeps moving onward and onward into
Spirals of creation and ruthless destruction is

That instant when you feel the tide rising in the
Beats of your braggart heart, when you realise that
There are seven oceans worth of turbulence in your
Mind, and that the horizon keeps trying to
Meet you halfway, at sunset.