The tide roared in the key of C,
like a temple drone
in the spotlight of a setting moon.
I watched the sky change
from night-blue to morning-rose,
mirrored in wet sand below.
And you spoke to the tide
in your secret language,
bringing carpets of waves to my feet.
These are days worth rising for.
While others are sleeping, making coffee,
locked inside classrooms with gurus.
You’ll still be teaching
this workshop on breath and bliss
from a throne that overlooks eternity.