in wild waves they come
splashing me with sticky, salty skin,
throwing me into the undercurrents
of what they think is right.

i stand on the shore facing their storm,
waiting for the moon to send the tide back,
their glistening white foam
tickling my toes with bubbles and warmth.

they push and pull and topple seashells onshore,
their distant fatherly clouds pounding down,
and they lap, lap, lap the sand at my feet,
not always waiting for my command.

in wild waves they come to my beach,
and though i try to clear the sticky salt,
it seeps in, breathes through my skin,
and together we intertwine our arms and swim.