It is a natural compulsion
to assume
that every blank space
requires input,
that an empty page
longs to be filled,
that all unmarred swathes of sand
desire the pen
of stick or bare toe
to tell its tale.

I have chosen
to resist
my first impulse
and see what comes
in the void
and the waiting.

Will you join me?

Walk with me
to the water's edge
and stand at the place
where the wave creates
a new, unsullied slate.
Watch with me
to see what stories
the sand itself will speak.