Sea


The sand did not sear.
It was a cold day.
Gray fluff,
pulled and padded as I looked above me,
searching for a ray of silver light,
as high as a bend reaching upward.
My scarf trailed in the wind for a bit
as I got my bearing in the direction
that walk chose for me.
Salty, I could taste it,
pushing into my open mouth,
pulling in my sea.
The tide was out,
beckoning me to walk to meet the waves
flickering and sloshing.
Gulls cried in their piercing chatter,
circling and eyeing a landing spot.
I listened for its pulsing,
rhythm,
rocking,
soft crashes as they resolve their curls and roll onto the sand,
drenched and wanting for more,
bringing to waiting feet,
gift,
bubbly,
froth circling around the ankles like a hem of lace.
Time's gift, no demand,
the hour glass tumbles and spills.
Ancient and future is brought in from the tidal,
ripple ring,
massive and unending.
My sea held me, spellbound,
folklore, the watermarks,
bleeding and fading, telling its age,
like the rings of a tree.
The deep giving up its treasure of golden dusted, shards of souls.
The sea whips were left and washed ashore.
Feathers were everywhere. Crabs had left their shells, marking their bread crumb trail.
A sand dollar, cracked, empty, worn, was turned upside down, revealing its skeletal history, I traced my fingers inside and wondered who would trace their soul inside of me.
A lonely rose petal,
red,
lay at my feet and I remembered who I am.

Raine Les 6/3/2008

cool

sweet

Sweet Write!