Children of Poseidon

To stand at the sea's edge

Is to stare into the faces of the old gods

At first in awe

And then with laughter when the water

Leaps up to meet us, children of Poseidon,

With a playful spray

Of salt-water drops turned crystal

In the golden setting sun

There is no need for conversation

With the endless hiss and crash of waves

And the gentle tumbling of stones and sand

So many little stones

To spin between my fingers

And rattle in my pockets

All the way home