Waves
The sea moves, tirelessly
While across the bay
Where I sit
The air is still
A strange choir
Crickets and waves
Insects against street light
A tapestry, of quiet
The moon, touches the mosque
From above
Both white
In their distance
Small stones, like beads for thought
Are thrown against the sand
Make craters
In the sand
My mind moves, while the sea
Across the bay
Hasn’t changed
It’s still the same.Written circa 1980 © Martin Dunbar