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looking down the beach at low tide
small stones strewn along the shore
I think of every word spread out across language

the rhythm of the soft waves reaching up the sands
curling, and then the susurrus as they rejoin the whole
much the same as my thoughts, my feelings,
and, yes, even my songs

the winds, now soft, and yet increasing
gusting as the intensity builds
even as my mind opens to bits of noticing
and then sustained inspiration

as I walk, my eyes light upon
the various colors and sizes of sea glass
some hidden between the stones
and some out in the open
waiting for me to to select them
just as I pause
to choose the words
that will show the shape
and color of my thoughts