Dave Bonta's short poem sets up a strange comparison: the sea is like money, "the copy of a copy." Money stands in for value without being valuable itself, and the speaker seems to see the sea the same way, as something repeated and passed along, one stretch of water echoing another. The opening "In several places" hints that the sea appears in many spots at once, each one a version of the rest.
Then the poem turns on "But." The sea has "no mind to break," which can be read two ways: it has no mind that could be broken by worry or grief, and it has no intention of breaking, as a wave does. That lack of a mind becomes a gift. The sea is "the best resort of water," a place where water can simply rest.
The mood shifts from cool and slightly puzzled to quiet and soothing. The final image, a "fine still night," leaves a sense of peace, even a gentle envy of something that can't be troubled.