the blue grotto

I live in the blue,

in a grotto

where few dare to look,

where waters come and go

with every high tide,

filling the gnarled darkness

with a softness,

carving mysteries

written in stone,

conversations

between friends

melting into the stillness

of moonbeams

in the distance,

ephemeral,

yet deep,

stripping

these cloches of fear,

with every tide,

writing history

in the pages

of this one 

quivering heart,

who only knows

the silence

of everything blue.