Three years I surfed the pages,

arms extended, fingers outstretched,

the gray continental sky indifferent to my need for light;

Three years I paced the shore,

back and forth, tracing the break’s contour,

shifting, ephemeral, undulating;

On the beach on the sand that is my brain,

lets information like water, in,

pass through, then away, soaked;

Three years the troughs and crests and I

kept holding hands and letting go.

The other day I traced the shore at the bus stop.

Concrete platform undulating like lapping waves.

Cigarette butts like flotsam lining the pavement.

I saw the sea foam in my mind.

I smelled the salty air.

I heard the rush and splash.

I felt the breeze in my hair.

Three years came to pass and I arrived

at how it should have been all along.

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