In an awakening mind, the rising sun, if space is made,
depending on what is empty, will place a treasure chest of an appropriate size.
Opening the lid with brightened eyes, beauty has no place to hide;
except to blend into a day full of clarity,
in the prayer of advancing surprise.
At sunrise, he jumped right up, climbing over the wide slatted boards
of the tall white wooden life guard’s chair.
Hand over his eyes, marveled at the sea that had no end,
he settled on his perch, legs dangling high above the sand.
Scrambling around, at the bottom of the chair, tiptoes deep in the sand,
pulling on the bottom ladder board, with pleading crocodile tears,
calling his name, for the seat to share, were his three best friends;
his brother, his sister, and his mother eight months pregnant.
Climbing down, he jumped off when he was half way there.
He landed feet-first in the sand with a thud; turning clamor into silence.
Placing little hands and feet, avoiding the space between wide slatted boards,
he heaved and pushed, steady shoulder under their bottoms one at a time;
until they were all sitting, side by side, hanging on to each other way up there.
Waving to his mother and patting some open space left on the chair,
he shouted, “There’s still a little room up here!
A lot of space left, from down there.” Then pretending to have binoculars,
he stated to those doing the same, following his aim,
“where we can see the sea meet the sky surrounded by our hands.”