Weather-Worn

'Tis
a foolish folly
to build one's house upon the sand,
so they listened to the Lord
and built upon the rock
instead.

Yet
 the storms still came
with winds and waves
and shifting, pelting sands
that crept to the door
anyway.

How
beautiful it became
weather-worn and sea-scarred--
I wanted to touch
the crackled paint
and trace each edge to the next

but
I admired the ocean's masterpiece
from behind the windshield
because it was not my art
to handle.

and
drove on, along the coast
gray and silent
save for the roar of the swells
that stir something in my soul.

I shall live here
someday.