Was it a mistake
To keep those sandcastles still—
Until a wave of this
beach does its will?
Green pastures—
over the windmill,
gusts of air
giving wings a thrill.
Odd, but not awkward—
a feeling that I can see.
What could it have been?
Why did my imagination feel
so real?
That cohesive flow of
the sea
was like something
flowing within
me.
Ebbs and tides gushing
up and down—
there I see you,
my reverie.
A tiny,
overwhelmed piece
spilled out
from its valency.
In a way—
how these
winds test the tree.
Why still—
even though
I won the
battle,
my soul was
not set free.