Perfection is comparable to a
Typical Oregon coast... a clouded
Sun. The forecast would be cold sprinkles, and
The beach would be empty the whole day. The
Sound is, ultimately, the waves lapping
Against the shore: a peaceful melody...
Continuous; occasionally, so
Well complemented by the harmonic
Conversations of seagulls, that unless
Attention is paid, go undetected.
Saltwater permeates the atmosphere.
At the end of the day, nothing changes
Much. Just the light passes to calm darkness,
And the night continues the endless chain,
Passing it on to the next day. Except
For the interruption of a foghorn,
This is comparable to perfection.