I stand devoted to the sea,
though she may never know the love,
there’s beauty in her fervency
that draws from deep to rise above.

I do what little a poet can
to cast a line into the swell;
with hopes for hooks, I haul with hands
to snag a lip or claw or shell.

I edge the tide in silent awe,
brace cold beside unwavering form,
bleed out and wash into the shore,
evaporate to join the storm.


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