Facing the Atlantic

I slowly crumble
reclining on a rocking chair,
waiting for the sunrise
on a warm beach, 
facing the Atlantic.

I erode slowly,
becoming the sand.

The breeze takes me with it,
breathes me in,
breathes me out,
spreads me around,
until I am every last grain.

The ocean feels cool 
on my shore,
it washes, it crashes, it takes,
it drinks me in.

The tide molds me,
every wave takes its turn
with placid serenity,
no rush, no fury
under these dying stars.

Foam and algae adorn me,
a crab burrows itself
in the shifting sands.
Somewhere a bottle
washes ashore.

The sun finally turns up,
waking up slowly in the distance.
The young orange rays
come racing across the surface
of the water, eager to dip
their toes in the sand.

The rocking chair, now alone,
sways in the breeze,
facing the Atlantic,
watching the sun rise.

— David Collante