Sound Sound

Looking down the waves
Small valleys in each phase
Of washing sound water
Drenching piers and their seers

Standing atop the tall platforms
Looking down water swell alleys
Taking down driftwood
And the carvings on them

I can’t see
I don’t know if you can see

The alleys in between are
Breathing endlessly
Repeating needlessly
Into distant beginnings

Laying on the rocks
The endless strands
Lifting from the tide is
Graffiti on the driftwood

Skeletal remains of the pains
The seawater went through
To pry a fang or claw
From a beast’s limb or maw

Scrape onto floating wood
Patterns or the currents as they go
Crab claws and shark teeth
Collected from a sea of vestige

I can see
They don’t know if you can see

Worthless sand dollars
Crushed shells caked with barnacles
A beach of all the broken things
The sea has made

All the broken things
That we’ve made
Dust in a lake-tinged wind stream
Six swells deep

And begins a misting maelstrom

With all the broken things
Fragmenting and eroding
Into white flesh powders
Painting all the land towers

Seers on the piers
Predict all the storms
Watch the wind gather
So senses are confirmed

I can’t see
I don’t know if you can see

All the broken things
That we’ve made