quiet lull of the shore

The sound

of waves

never sleep,

And the night grew colder

in each

cycle of

breath

Silence, as if not existing

Unhindered

to oblige

for the distant roars

to continuously

lull

in great

crashing echo—

What lingers

are the seaweed

tainted of salt,

carrying

fishy must.

The scent will always

follow the waves

to the shore

and embed

in the sand

Leaving the imprint

of time.

It seems

the night

is longer than

the day before

And in my wake

hopes

for longer slumber