Beach-combing for terrestrials

I walked the
beach alone,
in the presence of
some deeper soul.

Kelp and shell washed ashore,
scattered at random, polished
atop a white, sandy floor.

Salty drafts of air
pull back on my hair,
conjuring sensations,
combing through thoughts
before they disappear.

Waves tempered below
but turbid above
give shape to the horizon
line with undulating
inverted seagulls.

Senses submerged in a
plethora of wonder and
worlds undiscovered,
clean clarity confronts
the trapped terrestrial
with whale-sized blind spots,
no perspective of the other.

Footprints and debris soon
vanish under the tide’s recoil
and peaceful rest descends
on those who float together
devoid of selfish toil.