If I had a springboard
into those magnificent, crystal blues,
I’d float for hours, docking at your shore
of incandescent, cobalt hues. 
Instead, you made a glass raft
that seemed to make the perfect float,
where I could see the flora and fauna,
believing you’d built the perfect boat.
But as soon as I tried to dock it
and finally go for a swim,
your glass raft endlessly extended,
and I simply could not jump in.
On a dime, your sea turned over,
blowing and howling a tempest gale.
You handed me something breakable,
knowing it would fracture and would fail.
This time, I refused to fight it,
took some flesh wounds, and washed ashore.
Experience has been my life vest,
and you were simply not my shore.
I should never need a glass raft,
or springboard, to take a swim.
North, Yellow, Red, Black, and Dead Seas
await to be waded in.
So, I’ll get up and scour these beaches,
because after each storm has come to pass,
both the shards and all the turbulence
makes the most exquisite strands of sea glass.