“If you want to hear the distant voice of the ocean put your ear to the distant lips of a seashell.” —Curtis Tyrone Jones

sand pirates with shovels and pails
excavate tidal pools
capturing waves of wayward whales
soft hermit crabs in shells of snails
urchins on break from schools

One cannot collect all the beautiful shells on the beach. One can collect only a few, and they are more beautiful if they are few

—Anne Morrow Lindbergh

condors hang on thermals rising
gargoyle-like in a flock
lighting on tall condos lining
platforms flattened for reclining
in the shade of sunblock

The sea does not like to be restrained

—Rick Riordan

sky-high windows oceans mirror
polarizing lenses
terraced tiers as yet to shiver
a stacked deck of shuffled slivers
on the shelves and benches

Water always goes where it wants to go, and nothing, in the end, can stand against it. Water is patient. Dripping water wears away a stone

—Margaret Atwood

who sees a storm with a blind eye
sand castles within reach
on a strand whose denizen lie
between dreams and eternity
can’t deny it’s a beach

There’s nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline, no matter how many times it’s sent away

—Sarah Kay