Tag Archives: ocean

Turbulent Wavelengths

if we meet and I seem mute,

it is because I am trapped

beneath crashing waves, in a rip tide

that swimming techniques can’t release me from

 

a pearl has been stuck in my throat since birth

creamy light rarely reflected

against my tongue, in quiet spaces

a shore is a gift unknown to me

but if ever I am graced with it’s broken landscape

I am pounded by dust devils

of shell and seaweed

 

like the sulking pier,

releasing barnacle ridden scripts

into shark infested waters

inviting a sunfish to take my place

for a sacrificial rite

moored for nights under moonlight

folding my entire being into

the natural order of a seascape silhouette

 

may hope follow the wake

through estuaries curtailing what proceeded

our linguistic bobbing

that first caused this muddy mess

ahead, in the dunes

a flock of gulls lifts the arching sunlight

in a dance of the daytime

 

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Agora

grain of wood creates waves around my carpet,

a multicolored coastline

with it’s frayed edges, concealing mollusks and dog hair.

to follow the natural flow of the patterns

is to step back in time, or through the door

that separates living and loving.

tracing my fingers over them,

splinters collecting in my sensitivity,

realizing it’s not an ocean at all.

if it was, I would never leave the safety of my bed.

you can’t pay for an ocean but you can pay

for the Earth,

with it’s supplies that it kindly deals out to you.

no hidden motive except in your own humanity.

though,

bartering may be safer than buying.