Poem (undated)

As if the colors could blur,
As if the waves would wash them all away,
Through foam and sand I see the sun
peering at her reflection over the horizon.

The gulls keep a careful eye, poised to join the canvas:
       still wet, paint clinging in rough strokes,
       not yet bound to the cloth.

Not a soul,
Not another soul on the strand.
I have stepped into the Morning World,
which only the gulls and tides and rising sun know, and time stops...
...until I release it (and the breath caught in my lungs),
and I smile,
watching the sun climb ever higher
into her cloudy bower.