Three black rocks

Three black boulders 
In a circle. 
Neap tide fizzing 
And a rusty sandstone cliff. 
The set scene: magic.
Whisps of ocean. 
Dolphins spray. 

Primed for silence, I
Collected only seashell 
Whistles to the waves. 
The perfect t-break tie 
Between a hyped up human consciousness and source. 

Ten feet closer to the wailing water,
Miles to go inside my head. Ice-block feet, and I have 
Tempered even breath that echoes sea. 
Hips swathed in seaweed, vision swims
Ears capped by seahorses 
Eyes wonder-wide  
Hands numb.

My lungs are lead but I am buoyed to breath.
Beauty drowns delusion. 
Life is good.