The ocean lifts its skirts
to follow the moon
and across the inland sea
a great wave of water empties.
Running like a river
toward the opening void
the bays and coves
throw themselves into the chase,
the vast expanse giving up its wealth
for the poverty of the pilgrim.
I toss my importance into the tide,
the swirls of the ebb gathering the weight
like a thin branch on the water
lifted by the passion of the sea.
The little I have passes
in early light without goodbye,
leaving me exposed
like the weed covered rocks,
weightless and dry,
open to the mystery.