The Shore

A place with no walls A lone seagull that caws The sea drifting in a swell toward shore A picture painted, tacked onto the door A thousand colors and a thousand sounds No words to be spoken or to be found A chair that rocks back and forth A knitted quilt spread out at north The fire pit spent and embers waning A beautiful scene even when raining A polished heirloom on a satin sash A woman seated with no regard to the ash Time here is unmoving, untelling Each moment has its own chapter Like the sun warming the gray rocks The fluff of the clouds passing above This and more are what the woman loves.