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Keep your face to the sunshine
and shadows will fall behind you. -- Walt Whitman

Everything Under the Sun by Bob Beagrie

"Like a thief I crept and entered a house,
And it was my own home!"
 Rumi


The wave's lip
        stammers
sips dry sand
kisses your toes
        swings back
beneath the wings
                 of sandpipers

the next gathers
its gift of dark distance
            in a French fold
that   breaks apart
         on the sandbank

It is a breathing
machine
and   sometimes
it's the quiet   voice
that penetrates the din
     to enter the brain

Imagine the angel
(the best possible you)
    terribly unleashed
from the tightrope
    of survival
with sod all to lose
                        or gain

Try counting the swells
and your numbers
           will sink to roll
rub and grind
away their edges
           as sand grains

realising the innumerable
you
     on dry land
you
     the gathering swell
you
     the synchronised flock
of sandpipers
you
     the wind
          in their feathers
the vast breathing
machine
the balanced wave
you
     the crash      the bubble,
the sound of the first number
held in the curl
                         of a breaker.

The Linnets Wings