A drop of milk, cast into rushing waves,

The hues of the sun caught in a single sphere,

Clouded puffs of pink and gold dancing on the edges.

Each shape is full of such twisted brightness you cannot help but squint,

Sea-tossed reflections caught in a single slope,

Tied with even-spaced knots

A bare approximation of a rope,

If only in length; the rough flax of coiled fiber

Could barely compare to a thousand empty eyes,

Unblinking, cut by thinly wound twine,

Each flitting from one shade to the next.

White is the first color that comes to mind,

Blank and new and fresh, a pure canvas of sea foam,

Then purple, the majestic ruler of wind-tossed waves.

Blue whips through the salty air,

Reflecting a clear cerulean sky, the light cutting through waves,

Black plunged into an abyssal depth,

Never seeing beyond, yet always dreaming of the surface.

In the depths of brine, they swirl,

A thousand amorphous colors form a single perfect pearl.