Again and again this happens and we are never tired.
As small as pebbles among its countrymen we roll
Awash; pause, flock and renew.
We are only at the edge.
When I am there, my eyes will wince and lightly steam with the salt,
As if it intends to clean out my eyes and pose me,
Dispelling me to pause, flock and renew,
My view! It is now of sweltering heights, rock and dangerous tides;
One dizzy landscape.
I can hear them playing in their jelly-tot shoes and placid floats,
Happy, enthralled by the water’s edge.
Brooding in her melancholy mass, a wave gathers, rises,
As if with voluntary power instinct
And detrenches the sea blue,
…They feel the air tinge with electricity, a spark
And run. They run through current, through tide. They can only see the wave that splits their red
boards and flags in two.
…They were only at the edge