the quiet roar of breaking waves
the sunfilled silver-surfaced sea
the windmill turning breeze that moves
unbound by time and mystery
with seaweed parched white on the sand
that grinds the glass to clear the way
for all the lives that move between
the island and the steps of clay
the whitewashed church,
the stone made grave, remain of those
who knelt before, this selfsame sea and
searing sun, and walked unhindered,
isle to shore. I hear the splash and
pale blue sky, that sound away the
passing years, the sun falls further in
the west, 'til time just disappears