The bird sings its benediction to the beach the branch its pulpit the deeply etched stone in my hand a rosary the waves the choir crashing their chorus of yes, yes, yes. I stand on the sand I look out over the sea to the horizon - towards the line that stretches my mind to know what lies beyond. How I wish the waves would, one time, drag the horizon closer to me close enough for me to touch close enough to move me to see what is on the other side. But even though wave after wave pulls in, bringing in sea upon sea, it never brings the horizon to me - it never comes one bit closer. And so I do not know. But I will come back tomorrow - to walk the beach to listen to the birdsong to watch the waves crash into the shore. Back at the car the stone is hot in my hand from all that rubbing.
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