photo: This poem was written while looking at the Atlantic from Aberystwyth, back when I wasn’t taking photos. This photo was taken near Wellington.
The greedy waves kept coming
the waves, what waves!
and the grey seagulls
in the dying light
of a surprising winter
but the waves, what waves!
and the grey seagulls,
and the foaming surf
almost scared
of its own tide
that would delete the words of love
written in the sand of the afternoon
photo : the endless ability of the tides to create beauty day after day.
Like the tide is scribbling down on the sand
the mood of its waves
I will scribble my page
with those emotions that do not want to be dissected
*posted in August 2022, edited in August 2026
photo : Marahau, windy gardens, low tide, daylight and the vastness of the sky, bliss.
to catch in the course of an uncertain sentence
the words needed to reach
the love of a quiet surrender
at the beginning of each day
Photo: Marahau (Windy Gardens), at high tide, this marsh is submerged. At low tide, a small stream of water makes its way through the wild grass to reach the mother.
When I saw this stream of water winding its way through the weeds, I immediately thought to myself that it looked like my life, which has never followed a straight line, has often been submerged, but has continued its way always looking at the sea.
*as always, inspired by the work of Edouard Levé
we would celebrate the day
resplendent
in the luminescence
of a dying jellyfish
and the tide lowering in
dark, rhythmic
movements, however
independent
of humanity
*posted in 2021, edited in October 2023