by Ira Eden
Rolling swell to kiss the land,
falling back to crash the advance.
Flowing in a row of building ripple,
bow down to the sandy temple.
In the distance nothing is still~
ever moving windy mountains.
Hills and vales change location.
The sea whispers to the shore:
"I must come in now to soothe your wounds,
to wash away the footsteps."
Lightly caressing the rising mass,
then receeding back into itself.
Muara Ujung Genteng, West Java, Indonesia