Just over the berm lies the ocean.
You can hear the waves from here,
unsure, unless your ears are better than mine
whether it is low tide or high,
unsure whether the sea is quiet,
or capped with waves white and angry.
But it is there. You know it.
and with it the horizon that calms you so,
that thin line of forever
that draws your eye and holds it.
It does not lure you exactly. You have sailed into it
and out of sight of land more than once, enough
to know there is no magic in it, no mystery.
It is simply a destination on the way to another destination,
none of them a fixed place. A place where nothing lives
except the promise of more,
Which is why you climb the berm, why you stand on the shore,
in love with life, yet always, always, in search of more.
About this poem
The picture was taken in Maine. But it could be any stretch of seaside uncluttered with people. Places I have stood or sat, often for hours on end.