an urgent dance as crazy swirling sea.
slapping the seawall rocks
with dustup flat-smack kisses.
meeting somewhat face to face
upon these placid stone-face glares,
that stare out into the vacant horizon line peering.
worn rocks that never made it
to lighthouse status of importance,
but are praying for their solidity
to come into a meticulous surrender,
that wave action after relentless wave
would honor the asking for a secret intimacy,
beyond their obvious clash-meeting's superficiality,
that wet-strike impulsively might offer.
for what these rocks want to have happen,
from their mixed media of an embrace,
with them as solids stanchions
of literally centuries of watchful eyes,
is to finally meet up face to face
with powerful wear-down liquids.
hoping for the itty-bittiest of dissolve-fortune
to minutely come their way.
anything to get off this cliff history
and journey to a foreign fluid land.
anything to become a future granular,
to become bedrock chips, granules, or grains,
now rocking in a splashing water bed seas,
as if wall flowers now dancing,
as if the gut of solid's willfulness gives way,
coming to comprehend ebb and flow,
mutations of light and dark,
migratory movement from a life of steadfastness,
to a transient journey into a medium
in high contrast to the molten solids from eons ago.
to ask those that have broken free,
does beach sand ever remember its past?
from air-surface to now, ever submerged,
even getting to be wall surface
was life altering chore.
to be the unblinded sight and unmuffled sounds
and then to have the wishful option
of being kissed into freedom.
to a life beyond their statutory history in the making.
stone face mutiny done ever so slowly.
then into cracking a smile,
free to be present,
with complete disregard.
the dream, to brake out.
the method, by break down.
the result, the breakthrough.
all humans would want that also,
as a form of soul clarity,
as life furthered along,
into a fluid state of existence . . .
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