Wednesday, August 22, 2007


The ocean never was my friend.
The suck around my feet was clear,
even to me, that peeling boy:
less than the titan’s rubber toy,
I always knew enough to fear
a force I couldn’t comprehend.

It fed us well, that much I knew,
thrilled us as we dragged taut
lines across its lacy crests
for fish mother cooked and blessed.
I never counted what we caught:
the bill was always overdue.

Later, bellied down in swells,
a soggy match, tossed, belayed,
I knew a greater will was set
on closing out my aging debt;
we haggled through an endless day,
her clauses drumming in my cells.

Now my feet are warm and dry
but the old accounts are status quo:
the black Atlantic lies between
this surf and one I’ve never seen,
and by its phosphorescent glow
I reckon what I’ll owe the sky
if all I am, all I know
can fall away, let me fly.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

her salty lick connects the two of us (my love and i) lapping at our sand covered feet. but she's a bridge of unfathomable deep, laughing beneath the thundering beat of her waves: for she knows she is able to keep us apart by her watery arms length.

so i, too, dream of 'cloths of heaven.'

i will profusely thank minx for sending me here.

my best. red.