Waves

i’d like to bet—no wave curls the same;
the mist that ricochets upward
dissolves into sky
as the white crest races toward the sand.

the scent of it lives in your soul;
the taste of it touches your lips
—sky bathed in salt.
—salt bathed in sky.

if only to have
wings
to ride the mist
.........................till the end of time.