Singing Beach. A haven from the streets of life,
The sound of shell bells, from the cities of
The Sea echo through the salty air, yet heard
Above the splashing of the ocean as it kissed the shoreline
And splashed against the rocks.
Each morn the Porpoise, with slippery limbs and silver form
Would arch above the rolling waves, a bow without
The piercing arrow, then descend to depths unknown,
Screeching, once again in play before heading to the shore.
My simple bow in greeting never could compare to his
Trick of paddling tail, suspending him in air.
His wavering click of screech was his personal form of speech, Yet
I understood and talk of life ensued,
His graceful leap so high and a
Special kinship grew between this fish and I.
one morning, on the sand, beneath suspecting clouds,
I saw the fish afloat.
Weekened by some inner wond
He circled round and round,
His playful screech muffled,
An unfamiliar sound. I waded in the water to comfort, feel and touch
But the fish kept his distance, insisting "nothing much." then
With mustered strength
All for my delight, the fish attempted flight.
He cut into an easy roll,
pure pain to flap his tai and my tears for one so young
Gave way to silent wail.
In the baron wasteland of my heart
A silent chant echo's.