Visits Poem by Ena Nin

I open my window
for the rushing breeze
The scent I smell
of an ocean folding,
in a flash

I hear seashells
bearing last whispers
of the sand,
fast transcending
their castles

As water surface glistens
with oil from sea debris;
foam rises above,
isolated no more

The gulls and terns I hear,
closer, far-away
I pursue with my ear,
louder, loud, until gone

In the chasm of sea and I,
there's wandering flood
that visits and leaves
what I can write.