After the rolling rhythm of riding,
before my biped gait,
I will bask in the ponderous rhythm of ocean,
the unhurried fall,
the patient wait
I can rest in this,
the time it takes for the flood of the wave,
its choreographed return,
meeting the next wave,
ducking down in,
the pattern repeating
far down the beach
Swallows, too, and gulls,
add their rhythm,
here in the sun and the wind.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 9, 2019
