Like scattered seabirds,
my thoughts flew.
Got so lost in the ever blue
that sky and sea and visions blurred.
I felt a deeper truth was stirred.
White sail-boats strung along coast lines,
like denizens of foam, and brine.
The mist grey waves of precious lace,
conspiring to hide one place.
What if every when, is where;
every time we stop
and stare?