My solace and muse-in-isolation.
From madding rowdy bustle:
(shhh…)
This absence is sweet
solitary catharsis or soothing roar
of ocean swell.
Exchanging salty tastes in turn
(hiss of white noise)
in rhythmic, slumbering embrace.
Of sands and shells,
not city-sapped concrete slag
or some wastrel sideshow belligerence.
See how those waves
shape, deform and failing, ail
upon themselves
without sorrow.
Or loss from shallow
driftwood into pointlessness.

– G.