Waves

Waves

are not

things

like fire is not an it or that

not really –

merely another reminder of ephemerality

maybe more dramatic than looking thru shoe box photographs in the attic

…maybe.

Waves

are not things

nor the foam the spray the wind and the lunar magnetism that make them mighty.

At the edge of the shore

my daughter

plays in the sand. I can stand waist deep in pounding salt-water undulations

and pretend not to see through her thinghood

act as if she is a seven-year-old

and not a thunderous wave

sparkling mist in the sunshine

a zygote

a helpless newborn

a grandmother baking cookies

like these waves will become rain

and this sand was played with by dinosaurs.