Sonnet

Eternity has no meaning to the rocks on the shore
Who, drunk with heat, cool their bodies in the steady passage
Of the waves’ breath, like an unsettling echo,
For the waves wear down the rocks in secret, and
Sink them down to their beds, playing blankets
Of foam over barnacled skin,
Sweating salt into the blood of kelp that dries itself
In rocky crevices. And the rocks don’t mind
The fierce pressure of the waves, or the cold
Of a storm nor the heat of the sun. They know only
The connection of the water and the sand,
Their bodies forming hollows on the shore like
Wet copies of their being, while time
Forgets them