The Water Comes In Like Breath

The water comes in like breath.
You sit just above the tideline,
sand between your toes.
the morning sun on your face.

The water comes in like breath.
a rhythm of life,
a power independent of thought,
so vital it is often lost, taken for granted.

But not today. Today you remember too clearly
the times death has almost claimed you,
and in that memory, each breath becomes more precious,
a celebration, a worship, am an affair,

where each movement is an act of love,
taken in, savored, made precious just by being,
an eternity in each taking in.
The water comes in like breath.

About this poem

The picture was taken in Rye, NH.