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| to the land beyond the sea |
Always,
the fragrance of the earthen potpourri
walking down the hint of a path,
erased by impatient feet,
to the sea.
The forest marched down
to the waters edge
clung to slivers in the severe wrinkled face of the cliff, and
on islands the tide shaped;
Yet couldn’t,
wouldn’t press,
even a gnarled toe
into the rocky sand-shore,
to feel a shy wave
glide forward,
reach around toes to heals, and
tug you in closer to play.
How lonely!-
to only drink
the windward rains;
only feel briny breezes run wild fingers
through needle-tresses,
only smell the suns reflection, scattered from every
glistening pebble
bull kelp, fallen feather;
To watch, and wait, at the precipice of a wonder;
To be rooted to this rugged, cumbersome land
and never to touch, taste,
one teardrop
of the Pacific’s compassion.
May your tears always find a path home to the sea. ~
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| Olympic Mountains |
Written on November 5th, 2012
*Translation: A sick man’s empty dreams, a line of Horace’s