The Waves, They

The Waves, They
Crash on the beach of my desire
Sanded and rocky, quick
like silver, salty
like tears,
sweet like science,
wet, like sea air.

Well, the rhythms of nature
still in exist in spite of it all,
beyond the shininess of the polished surface
so much like foot-worn marble
but less creased, precision-curved
and inner-lit with an unnatural glow.

But what is natural to a Number,
a vehicle for counting,
a symbol of something to be quantified
but not quantifiable,
shifting as the sand dunes do.