The wave hits the beach
Writing words on the sand
To the academic man
This could be the answer
In fact, it's no more than a hunch
Still we try to eat it
I think we're all pretty out to lunch

The wave is out of reach
Trailing words from the hand
Only air can understand
Semaphore on the shoreline
Waiting for distance to recede
Unhappily imperfect
When we should be happy just to breathe

But with each bated breath
So present, tense
We want to know, we want it sure
It don't make sense!
So I'll do mine and you do yours
But let's not trade sand and sea
For brick and cement

The wave hits the beach
Laps around abandoned clothes
Wants to share a joke with those
Who'll brave the breakers
Who'll break bread rather than pray
While the definition-maker's
Lost in the small print of the day

The words are only pictures
That the next wave wipes away