The greater the body of water, 
the more questionable where a wave comes from.
          Pebble in a puddle, a most obvious start,
a drip from a drop. Ripple resonates, doubles, then triples. 
                        Evermore a pattern.
   The bigger the lake, the more we can see.
   Surge and swell on a monumental ocean 
       changes with the sunset, seaside tide, or a notion.
                  It ends on the shoreline, 
                  from where does it come?
            Unforeseen origin, man-made or natural?
    On the stillest of days, wind hardly a whisper,
    you will notice a rhythm but rarely the source.
             Undertow and currents may alter your course.
True flow you may never know, shining surf leaving you 
in its wake. What will it leave behind for another day?

© 2024 j.g. lewis

April is Poetry Month
you will notice a rhythm