On The Beach

we're alone on the beach
this unseasonably warm
mid January Saturday night
to record the sound of the waves

each wave kisses the shore
as a peck, a smack, and sometimes
a passionate French-kiss

with eyes closed, the sound varies, 
it's explosive, it's a ferocious rumble, 
it sounds like a train rushing by till only echoes are heard in the distance

eventually you're mind is caught in the rhythmic sound of the crashing waves
this spellbinding rhythm quickly erases any fleeting thoughts that try to make an entrance into your brain, 
and they are erased like the messages and footprints left in the sand by today's visitors

the light from a fishing boat
is sandwiched between other pulsating beams of light,
from the faithful, perpetual companion to the fishermen,
a fog-faded red light on the left from Point Judith,
and to our right the pulsating beams from  
the north and southeast Block Island lighthouses

later, this mesmerizing recording sends us off to sleep
as we cuddle under the bed covers