I’d like to enforce a moratorium
on brick and concrete walls
and their finality, at least until
the vines and rock climbers
share their recipe for ascension.
They may serve as better breaks,
protecting inlets and marinas
with surety, but back at home
the waves are softer, flowered,
and the rigidity is offensive
to the thirst and lust of creativity,
the disappointment palpable
in the mornings after a rain.