Of Waves and Lovers

We sat 

in the park

on a bench, 

blinded 

by the sun 

on the lake, 

making friends 

with each wave. 

“There I am,” 

you pointed, 

“and that one 

is you.” 

And we watched

as the waves

built, 

broke, 

fell away, 

came together 

again. 

Now I know
you were right:
a wave 

cannot 

change itself.
It does not
choose to crest
or dip,
does not seek out
distant sands
beyond its reach.
It is content
to kiss the shore,
draw away,
find land again.

This is the way
of waves and lovers.