…of the tides

Pale shades on white canvas, trails etched by an unseen hand
whose soft touch still lingers, shimmering veils of subtle beauty
shifting in the gentle breeze, it carries me back to the sea
and the fine shimmering sands sifting through open fingers
for a brief moment becoming fragile ethereal creations
before returning to their true state
awaiting the gentle caress of the tides
dislocated by the ebb and flow
shifting back and forth in endless repetition
never still, as a heavy rock or a mountain are still
never lost, as footprints or memories are lost
never broken, as seashells or hearts are broken
never free, as birds or butterflies are free
never alone, as the moon or the sun are alone
never silent, as time or death are silent
but also never empty, as a desert or a heart is empty
never empty as the night or the soul’s abyss is empty
a part of something vast and eternal
© Ann Bagnall