The shift in the wind a pivot, and I opened my eyes:
the waves became soft, curved walls resisting
the change so slightly, as much as they could. East
of here, the old hills line up waiting for houses
to come and go; on the shore, the sand remembers
the hills. In midst of all this memory, I make
a sound like “shhhh!” that the waves ignore. A gull
seems circumspect, looks at me askance, but calls
anyway. . .In the hush between the breaking waves,
under the smoothing hand of the offshore air, clarity;
I find what I’m seeking in the persistent absence
of peace, the insistence of sound of air shoving water,
the silence at the moment of arrival: the noise after.