When the waves peaked
the sunlight broke
through their belly,
filling the undertow
with stained glass,
blues, and greens.
At the foot of
something holy,
you felt like a child.
If you still
spoke to a God
you would have
done it then.
Instead, you scribbled
short prose
onto wrinkled
receipt paper,
released them
into the ebb.
You thought,
this sadness,
like the ocean,
belongs to all of us now.