I crunch my way through broken shells,
Brittle sand, addled pebbles
Majestic rock columns breach the ground
In one final, flailing, frozen gasp.

This is my temple.

No choirs here,
Just the steady rythymic ebb and flow
A heartbeat old as Earth itself
Gulls and gentle breeze the lighter notes
Mozart must have heard your dreams.

Yet you are a god of fury!
Who calls it as you see it
Picking and eating fishermen whole
Crushing stone to powder
Kelp and crab lie dead on your doorway
You rage! You rage against the brazen sun.

But listen you will
Patiently, to my stormed thoughts
Allow me to clamber your altars
To sit on your spires
To weep on your statues
My concerns are like nothing
But yet, still you listen.

Whispering gently to me.
Some day I’ll understand.

January 2007

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