The last wavesHave fled the shoreInto a thousand dropletsDissolved, crumbledAgainst neighboring coasts They aren’t goneThey aren’t driedDensed in namelessSaltsBitter or tasteless They existThey gulpThey slitherBeneath newborn raysIn shifting lights They reflectAnother shard of sunScorchinglyThe very same sun…Perhaps it’s not too late Jona Cenameri
