I come down
to the sea to sit
on a rock,
and meditate,
all thought undone,
in the waves’ whoosh
and turn.
A young man comes,
sits down on
another one,
takes out a guitar
starts to strum.
Above, on the promenade
the runners have begun to run.
On the road,
the traffic is starting to thrum.
Down here where
the waves whoosh
and turn, we sit on,
the young singer and I,
two faces upturned,
warmed by the same sun
the same sky

and the sound of the sea
underscoring his song.

For me, a poem is a key, unlocking a moment in time and revealing the infinite well of possibilities that every moment holds. Poetry brings us to creative presence.

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