The Voyeur

THE VOYEUR

Ripple by ripple by ripple, the tide,

as if swollen with water from a

giant sponge squeezed by an unseen hand,

floods the bare rocks and rides up on the shore.

 

After a short while, it is absorbed once more,

draining out the harbor and rinsing its

piers of grunge, drying a miniature

archipelago beneath a mimic sky.

 

I can sit and observe the tide for hours;

in fact I have often done that under

the guise  of going  to take some photos.

Through the lens, a voyeur in the dark,

I clandestinely watch the Earth cleanse herself.

 

Marty Luster