At the low ebb
I traipse the rippled
Ocean ground -
reasons for being this vast
paradox state of [e]motion ―
swelling lashing spilling
peripeteia's leaving
intense elusive pervasive
incessantly persuasive
impermanent
(the one immutable thing)
and bound to return
by a single irresistible pull
of a distant
ever [r]evolving Moon
drawing near
"The essence is never the form."
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