Humility

Our cells are married to her green sapphire, her turquoise, her royal blue, her moon frosted waves. We don’t know what day it is, and the waves are talking. Uncountable mouths. Has anyone ever counted the waves?  Weighed them?  Or named the one that splashed me in the face?  The ones that drop our sailboat into the trough when we sail too fast over the crest? The ones that blossom like hibiscus under the hull? Slapping, and whooshing, mounting and draining, she talks about everything at once. It is impossible to repeat her unforgettable story.