Untitled 5

Underneath the weathered pier
I stood still
with my back to the sand
and my face to the water
It was creation through noise
It was like an airplane taking off a runway

The hiss
of the waves, crashing
The noise taking off in flight, airborne

I imagined a water landing
as I watched the people confront the waves
Their incessant chatter drowned
to the bottom of the ocean
where the shells were broken
below their kicking feet.