No Answers But Echoes

There are no answers, just the outgoing tide leaving a poem written in the sand to be washed away when the tide comes in again. I am lost in the detail, the exquisite swirls and rippled script of its creation, I explore each worm excavated hole as if it hides a secret truth within when I know it doesn't. Meaning is beyond the cycles of the tides, beyond my mind and even this world - it is written across the shoreline of the infinite echoing like a seashell in the places I have never been able to fill.