Poem: Perfection

seagrass

Perfection

Early in the morning.
Tides and winds have erased all evidence,
cleansing the sand
and for a while at least, it is pristine yet again,
as perfect as the first day of creation.
full of promise and peace.

This is why I go to the lonely places.
Not to flee, but to let the storms pass over you,
to let them carry the flotsam out to sea,
and leave me fresh,
if only for a while.

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