Day-dreaming of the Coast

I watch the waves rise

                but they are not the blue,

                roaring ones I long for.

These waves are the ones I grew up with

                the ones that rise from the hard dirt

                like the rays of the hot sun.

I hear the birds sing

                but it is not the call

                of the seagull I hear

These are the calls from the ones I grew up with

                the ones with the red feathers

                and colors of the hot sun.

I smell the moisture in the air

                but it is not the salty

                air I dream of

This smell is from the storms I grew up with

                the ones that appear in the heat of summer

                that survive the harshness of the hot sun.

I taste the wind that blows

                but it does not carry the taste

                that invades my daily thought

This taste is from the ground I grew up with

                the one which gets thrown into the air

                that gives the appearance of beauty once the hot sun rests.

I feel the earth crunch under my shoes

                but it is not the fine sand

                that I have prayed for

These rocks are the harsh ones I grew up with

                the searing hot ones

                that are burning from the hot sun.