With crying seagulls, salt tears of spraying seas
this rugged coast of obelisk ancient stones
black blowing reign of squall and fury
the swallowing of sand and shore
tonight a ghost, a murmur of moon
the pitch grows ever darker
fretful wrath of wild ocean
awaits the calm to come,
the bright startle of
tomorrow.

In the evening comes the dim light, the swooping away of day,
the blue, gray clouds, the turbulent air of wild birds
small specs, black and disappearing.
After awhile only quiet,
and then a certain silence settles in
it moves like fog, alongside the moon
it comes cold, blanketing the soul
a depth of space unknown
a well of darkness, undiscovered
the losing of this day, this light
and in the long, lingering hours
dwelling in the dark caved places
touching the soul and flooding the heart
the crashing waves will come
to break one wildly apart.

In Ireland, sea swept and green
against the wind, this mast, salt lipped and bent
by the mad skipping white caps
farther out - the gray fading ships
closer in, the tiny bobbing boats
amid misty fog they float
nets and fish, heavy they list
the watery wilds
toward home.

In the sweet of early morning
and only for a few precious moments
I thought of nothing at all
I stared blank at the dim lit walls
in a state between awake and dreaming
only until the startle of the first bird singing.

I saw the sun clinging to roofs and trees
light traipsing through the garden lilies
I heard the chirp and groan of frogs
newly green, all the unfurling fronds
and from the broad leaves
the dew fell sparkling in rivulets
and drank the carpet moss
softly green and splendorous.

Because our days are straying
and though the nights are spellbound
we are only ever falling away
only ever coming and going.
Near the blue banked shores
we are anchored, bobbing and breathing
the clouds are merely sailing ships
waves of swirling skies.
Upon the tide the moon rips and pulls
stars come to swoon and soothe
floating in the night lands
plush and indigo blue.

All day long with clouds and birds
greens and blues moving through the water
I wish my fingers were water color crayons
to paint these scenes on leaves of paper
to capture water drops on stones, lighter, darker
the sky, the soft rain I taste
all the ways I lived this day.
In the morning to wake up
deep and breathing in
an ancient forest.