Much like the tides which arrive anew with each coming day.
These waters rise and though they reach,
The wonder and bewilderment is never washed away.
From within such pools.
"The most amazing thing to me about the sea is the tide."

Little bucket, little boots, little rolled-up jeans, Seaweed tang in the air and the world in between. You say
“Look, it’s a city in a puddle of glass,”

Where the barnacles glitter and the small crabs pass.
Your mitten’s full of sunlight and a stone that shines, You call it treasure, I call it one of time’s designs.

We crouch where the ocean left its breath to cool, In a cracked rock basin, in a pocket pool.

Every droplet holds a sky I almost missed, A universe contained in a child’s small fist.

Tide and weft, life in death, A circle swings the listening breath, Toll the bell in the inward shell, hear how soft it stands.
Tiny seashell, picked and kept by tiny sandy hands, Oh little soul who understands.

No greater than what time demands.
This is our tidepool alchemy,
The quiet gold of shifting sands.

You tap on the water like you’re knocking on a door,
Ask, “Do the fish have neighbours?
Do they know the bigger shore?”
And I laugh, but I’m learning from the way you see, How the smallest living corners hold eternity.

A starfish clings like a hymn to the rock, Like a hand on a heartbeat, like a key in a lock. Salt on your lips as you taste the spray, You say, “Everything’s leaving, but it all stays, hey?”

You don’t need old books for a truth that bright, You’re reading from the tide in the afternoon light.

Tide and weft, life in death,
A circle swings the listening breath,
Toll the bell in the inward shell, hear how soft it stands.

Tiny seashell, picked and pocketed by tiny hands, Oh little soul who understands.
No greater than what time demands.
This is our tidepool alchemy,
The prayers we pour in shifting sands.

Thermos cup and a towel on a windswept stone, You hum to the limpets like they’re not alone.
The gulls complain, and the clouds roll slow, And the kettledrum surf keeps a pulse below.

You say, “If the big waves take what we can’t hold tight, Do the small waves bring it back when the time is right?”

And I feel something loosen that was locked in rust, As a hermit crab rethinks its house in the dust.

The world keeps ending in a thousand ways, Yet here we sit, counting miracles in twice-worn days.

Salt keeps the wound, and salt keeps the bread, Salt keeps the names that we thought were dead.

What we lose to the deep, we still somehow keep, In the fold of a song, in the rooms of our sleep.

Little pools left behind when the great waves part, Little worlds left to tend like a flickering heart.

If the ocean is an altar where all things must go, Then these pockets of mercy are its soft afterglow.

Tide and weft, life in death, A circle swings the listening breath, Toll the bell in the inward shell, hear how soft it stands.

Tiny seashell, picked and pocketed by tiny hands, Oh little soul who understands.

No greater than what time demands. Tidepool alchemy, quietly,
Turns loss to life in borrowed sands.
Soon, the tide returns.
Once more, you’re hidden
by the ocean’s splash and spray
and the cycle begins again. 

tidepool alchemy

Lyrics by ButaOjiChan, music composed by SUNO AI.

I'm Father (MJ)

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