Keeping Time

The rocks don’t move, the water moves. Even­tu­ally the rock gives way, moves. Its a race. I don’t know who is win­ning or whether I am the water or the rock. I feel like I am unmoored. The tides flow with unques­tion­ing pur­pose. I don’t. The rock are decided. I’m not. I feel more like the fog flow­ing over the rocks and the water, at the mercy of the wind, the water, the rock: gen­er­al­ized and thin.