When the third tide rolled out the rocks began to wobble.
While the pebbles trickled, stumbled to the water;
While the seashells clenched their posture in the sand;
While the grass before the dunes reached in desperation for the ocean’s hand;
The rocks began to wobble.

The rocks couldn’t remember the last time they’d been loose.
Since both sides of the promise had been kept,
It had been years since they’d wept.
But now, again, they found themselves loose.

The rocks watched as the fourth tide crept to their waistlines,
And remembered to touch all the comforts they’d learned underwater.
To their surprise the comforts hadn’t moved an inch,
And this gave them strength.

When their eyes would open, they’d remember that
Everything looks better when it’s blue.
When their mouths would open, they’d remember that
They have crossed the ocean a thousand times.

In this, their strength, they found a steadiness
That had been there long before they,
And that would surely forget their names.

When the fifth tide rolled out the rocks again felt the loose,
And closed their eyes until they were again underwater.