What does he see from the jetty
he has loved since he was small?
Jumping from rock to rock
even when called back,
us fearing he would lose footing
and be carried off by the high tide
fast encroaching.

Even now
when a storm is gathering force,
the sky darkening ominously
with layers of foreboding clouds,
he walks out to the end and sits
in a rock-formed seat he said
was made just for him and waits
until the frothy tips of the white caps
splash his face, and he throws back
his tousled head, laughing!

From the shore
we cannot tell what he sees,
pointing.

He turns toward us with arms
waving up, as in Hallelujah,
seeming to implore us to see
what we still cannot.

“Look! Look!” he shouts
over the din of the crashing waves.

And we do
and see what was right in front of us
all the time:

the wonder of it all.

© by Carol Amato.
Used here with the author’s permission.