A Beckoning Sea

already exhausted
she slowly emerges
some place along the shore

somewhere in the moonlit tide
to the grave from whence she came

scurrying seaward with weak purpose
so vulnerable, so eager

push by painful push

a heavy lumbering

awkward out of water
on she goes, heaving her bulk
gasping at the warm night air
onward up a familiar and sandy slope
accompanied only by the gentle lapping of a rolling sea
leaving flattened, machined tracks in her wake

only mother moon to guide and watch over her now

but for a distant thump thump thump
of some summers reverie

a brief pause to gasp at life itself
and so her dig begins
determined, tortured; constant
in trance she waits

shiny black beady eyed
sensing life’s release
how many warm eggs?

but for now she must up and work again
laboured and with urgent haste
replace the sand that’s been displaced

an infant emergence

all clockwork and programmed

to a beckoning sea......