Sand, innumerable, sticks to the soles
of my feet and stretch my eyes with
the inability to hold it all in,
It can not be put into a container,containerize
like the bottle, angled into the sand its green
not an emerald but an aged, mottled green
holding a yellow scrap of paper
with insistent words scribbled upon it:
“Show up. Love.”
I question.
“Show up. Love.”?
I exclaim.
“Show up. Love.”!
I show up. I love.
I show up. I love?
I show up. I love!
“Show up. Love.”
I feel the sand find my butt as
I sit upon it, looking out at the blue
and white foamed water
The waves rising and falling the never
ending persistence of the tides
My thoughts wander to conversation
with the depths…
“You, dear ocean, never need
to be reminded”
“Show up. Love.”
The fact I need to read it in a bottle
in order to do it strikes me as odd
Or is it self indulgent prattle, reading
the words scribbled on yellow paper
“Show up. Love.”
Why? So I can sit and put my chin in the air,
checking it off the list of “I do that!
I DO that!” leaving humility on a rock
I lob into the ocean
I don’t make the rock skip,
It thuds, the splattered
annoyance greets the yellow
paper – its declaration so
simple and not a platitude
“Show up. Love.”
“Show up. Love.”?
“Show up. Love.”!
No more questions. Simply hearing.
Show up, love.
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