Thursday, January 7, 2016

another poem about the pacific ocean

the mist tricks, fine ocean spray,
light slips into wide white space.

blurring horizons hide the limits of sight.

in the sand:

carbonized black, never shined such obsidian,
a remnant of fire, polished polished jet iridescent,

seafoam patinaed purple and green,
right half of a rainbow,
to pair with mother of pearl.

polymers parade, broken and gleaming in falling light seeming,
against rough round soft sands, beside broken sand-dollars,
shining as opalescent squares,

that red stone, those iron bands, precipitate,
just like the desert stones, so far away,
elegant whorls against sharp arcs broken and eroded,

the sand and wind and waves conspire to rend
the red-yellow stones into silicate separation,
back from whence they came

the seagulls flee
my pockets were full of emptied oysters
and half considered ideas

from a driftwood perch I witnessed
my son running into the wet,
he laughed as waves lapped above his plastic boots,
he cast a handful of sand back into the sea

I laughed alive and momently free.

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