Attempt at a poem with a similar style and format as another poem by Nancy Willard. I think I was having some trouble with syntax here, but decided to leave it alone for now.
When the small child cried on the beach
and her tears turned into the ocean
and her hair turned into the seaweed,
she was taken by the churning waves
which my thoughts brought forth blackened clouds
which my fears brought forth rolling thunder
which my exhale brought forth glimpses of sunlight
when I heard an echo of laughter
when I awoke upon the sand.