Somersaults in Summer

The waves washed ashore were like feelings to my eyes

A glimpse of the sight for which the sound is aloud

Like beating drums, they shot from my heart to my head,

Clung onto the very aspect of deep and the depth

A shout it was to me, for how they feel just as close

Where invisibility of myself repeatedly undraws

Through my eyes had been springs and streams,

For the loudest noise the sea made chase to the brim

But how lackluster I felt began to blink

The face of memory unshackles to think

How ether itself moves like a grieving voice,

Into an oasis much older than the deserts it was hoist