Drifting scent of seaweed
repugnant to the unaccustomed,
to me, is sweet perfume.
This flora of water’s garden
reveals a tapestry too intricate
to be crafted by human culture.
Sculptured writing on the shore,
penned by the tide, rising, receding,
is not limited to capabilities of mortals.
striking the base of craggy bluffs,
gives undue glory to its power.
As a blanket of dusk unfolds,
absence of daytime’s blaze
creates an aura of solace…
and silent memories linger.
©Laura Crumm 2014