the waves at the door

the waves are here today,
right at my door,
not near the faraway smell
of salt being sifted and churned,
not inside this growing, molting skin,
groping in the dark for its roots,
but here, at the door,
where I can feel, hear
and watch them come and go -
these great swirls and tides,
never losing their sea-ness,
pushing, pulling, seducing
and tugging at all those roots,
that can't tell the earth
from water or sky,
wetting my pores
with their breath of salt,
reminding me of the cosmic blueprint
that sits inside us all,
unfolding waves of stories,
waiting to be held
and simply watched.