The Innisfree Poetry Journal

www.innisfreepoetry.org

by Morgan Bazilian

Water on land

A small road to the sea

Grass growing in between tire treads

Sand invading its edges

Small brown caterpillars mark the end.

The rising of dunes

Deep trails up false ridges

Through tall grasses

Nearly coordinated in movement.

Wind blowing directly on-shore

The waves unorganized

Cracked rocks covered in orange moss

The sky coloured deeply with reflection.

My hands tucked-in deeply

Shoulders slightly raised

Eyes blinking quickly

And a long exhale.

The water's pronounced movement

Uneven;

Standing and breaking

In the face of crosshore wind.

The flags flapping, making noise

Indicating direction,

Vying for attention.

The white froth

Blown backward to sea,

Reflecting light

Creating a near inverse of a sine.

A plane so thin

Short lived, transparent

And completely quiet.

And then a break, a thump,

And a decision.

Even with the wind's support

The wave unable to meet the land.