Dry As a Bone
This stone
A mimic of the sea. 

A waterless, watery stone
Whose angle of repose
Is flat on the shelf in my home.

But a dreamer’s beachcomber eye can spy
Splashing blue waves dancing toward land
With a tides’ mighty power in ready command
For scribbling snaky, foamy rows across warm tawny sand,   

While white clamshells wave and wobble in cerulean swells 
As their brethren, beyond the ocean’s reach,
Lie still, simply basking on the beach.

Nearby, completing the scene
Glimmering green kelp strands lie floating, serene
Within this rocky cove of the marine.

A little lithic miniature you see
Of dehydrated sea
For me to hold tight in my hand
Whilst dreaming of surf and sand.