We are on the ebb,
shifting from the shoreline,
by our leave revealing a hand print.
Who walked in waters deep
when we were at our zenith, but unaware?
Who cast this hopeful trace to be
discovered once our backs are
billowed and summarily borne away?
None of us saw.
Not these rocks, or this sand,
neither those popping seaweeds,
not bright day or even blinking night.
Now though, lit by the humble remains
of a grander declaration, this pearly outline,
shadow-picked and oscillating at our edge
seems a simple statement, a wave,
waiting to be reciprocated.