1.
why are we so mesmerized by her,
this heaving mess, the ever-growing pull,
every morning,
fire birthed from water’s womb
the afterglow,
the dancing reflection,
the sea?

little girl thrilled in the froth
waits for waves, to pull out again
the sandy rug beneath her feet.

bronze boy and his pop
cast rods to fish the tide,
bare-chested in the rocking.


2.
how close can we
get to the lifting light
hidden behind
the storm’s gaining billow?

the haze,
the heat,

still, we walk on
as if we could keep on going
and there would be no end.

on this edge of pruney earth,
i imagine that we are pelicans
gliding inches
from the rising rise of the gray,
wondering how far it goes
until it smacks
the blinding of the day.

i almost forget the sky exists.

it dominates my vision,
but is kindly silent,
so that the sea can sing her song.
she isn’t so intimidating
when i cover her with my hand,
leaving only the clouded glass,
the space
way beyond the
blue.


3.
the sea thinks it humorous,
to litter the sand with
souvenirs of the underworld
and leave fragments of her
invisible soul,

and thinking this delightful,
we take off our shoes
and call it holy ground,

playing in the midst
of her reaching and collecting,
trusting she will bring us
back to shore.


4.
maybe she would change her mind
and pull me out for herself,
my life be swallowed
and spit out like these
crushed down shells.

how long does it take
for the breaking down
of all that’s dying in me
to form new land?

there is a comfort in my smallness
as love becomes play
in this roaring in between,
as i get closer
to that horizon where the endless
meets this water holding us,
reaffirming its goodness,
this ever shifting
mesmerizing, heaving mess
the sea.