08 Oct 2015 – Sonnet

A beach. The ocean. Night. A shadow box
of black on black, with intermittent grays.
A long expanse of sand, enclosed by rocks,
the Milky Way above a blurry haze.
The sea, still toiling, seven on – none off,
a doom of labor, though it wears its yoke
as does an artist who will always scoff
at rendering the same scene twice, some stroke
must be a revelation ever new.
The dim white breakers jet from side to side
before they melt away in lightless hues.
How does one capture lonely midnights’ tide?
For all the things no camera sees at night,
alone the Word still offers to our sight.