You can't tell the difference.
The sun that comes in tides,
From that of the ocean, or even the moon,
Just like the spur of emotions,
That hides under the current,
The current hides under the ripple of wind catching on the taunt surface.
You can't tell the difference between the dirt, fine like powder sand,
From the water ways, taunt with tension on the surface,
But impossible to judge beneath,
Until you've jumped into the surface,
Bent over for that fine dust current, that I can't feel to the touch,
But ebbs like the sun that comes in tides