Rebirth at Ruins

I sit on the edge of ruins
near swept away by what
had been,
near lost to
the curious crevice
of stone and scaling.

There was a life here,
was majesty,
was wonder.
And now my feet dangle
from barren
sides
where moss clings
lazily.
No need to grasp
anymore.

But the ocean is green today,
it swirls and stirs.
Speaks of life
and the death it’s
swallowed whole,
ground away,
brought to blissful sleep.

It is not personal
it says.
This slow decay,
this method of rebirth,
this long loneliness.
It is not so simple
as alone. and dead. and hidden.
and forever.

Instead it churns
flips over, breaks.
Instead it scrapes the shores sweetly,
sweeps away and returns.
Instead it pulls from edge
to depth
and never worries
about the distinguishment.

Because it is all here
in one breath.
You can taste it in the
crisp salt air,
the cycle of living and dying.