The hours of time, in silent waves,
Break on the shore and wear it down;
They sweep it outward and apart,
Each cell like flesh dissolved and drowned.
The foam has faces, fleeting forms
That float and then break on the sand;
They scatter, misty, and are gone,
Are lost as sighs in winter wind.
The water ripples, swells like thoughts,
When stirred above or far below,
Its waves dispersing, crashing down,
But silent in the scattered foam.
The faces fly, white butterflies
That swirl in water and in sky
And swim upon the silent sea
Of hours that laps the sighing shores.
Image credit: Elena Campos Cea, from Wikimedia Commons, under a Creative Commons License.