by Jill Christensen
The sea whispers
on travailing winds–
Come.
When life claps
down
like the roar of thunder,
when it settles
in
like a gray rain mist,
Come.
And I do, and beckon
to his call,
and listen
for his stories in seashells
brought
to ear.
For here at the
ocean
I am overwhelmed
with waves of what I am.
A
granule of sand
in the collection
of all,
an intricate
shell
in his gathering.
