The perimeter is exposed, revealing:
seaweed strands baked with a crisp salt-white icing,
old bolders disassembled and polished to small gems,
hidden creatures dryly presenting their bodies,
as if for inspection.
Waves slow to a soft shush of water and sand;
at the ocean's edge tide comes to a calm.
If, somewhere in its quiet, it longs
to rush again, to roar, to toss foam at the sun,
to beat against stones joyfully; it must wait.