After the Rain

After the rain of evening the oceans cry.
Subtly does the water stir the sand,
the air fresh, cold,
but ripe with the smell of tears.
Drowning sailors cannot see beyond the maiden’s eye.
When every bluish wave retreats back to its bed,
whispers in the deep
rise to greet the air.
Unseen,
unheard,
except for one who knows when and how to listen.

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