Words from the Sea

The sea steals words from the clouds,
bright and light like salty vapor.
It keeps them in its pocket, trembling with rime,
and lets them slide on the stones, poems newly born.
When the tide rises, the taciturn clouds
lose their alphabets;
the sea returns them in cursive of foam,
written on the pebbles, caresses just begun.
So every stone becomes an open page
a verse that breathes at the first ray.
The sea has stolen, given, and restarted
found words, walls of salt and light.