high over clear-washed stone, faint whispering,
the moon-bright tide cascades, the wild sea rose
has blossomed, nodding where the salt wave flows,
the wide unconquered brines great murmuring.
storm rock, night air, the white foam glistening
on wandering sand, the night's rich harvest grows
as passive as a flower, the sea-breeze blows
above the glassy ocean's thundering.
our love as free as this the windswept wave,
its rhythmic sigh, here in your arms i seek
a treasury of love, exotic gems,
before the folding tide, the current's slave.
the stronghold falls, the sleeping waters speak
of soft goodbyes and watery diadems.

oh, caverns of the moon so cold and dark
beside the trembling waves that drift and spool,
where urchins cling and breezes blow so cool,
such stony blackness vaulting in an arc.
upon the thorny land you make your mark,
beside the sea, that undulating fool
who clowns around and gathers in a pool
upon your doorstep, ocean green and stark.
and something draws me close, a story told,
fantastical, where hidden paths begin,
a dragon's secret hoard or horses white,
who foam like sea-spray in the frail moonlight,
(surrendering night's depths that brood within)
or some lost world bright crowned in ornate gold.

the blackbird sings of summer from the oak,
a ladybird cavorts upon the rose
and while the sunlight hours sweetly spoke,
i dreamt of meadows where the poppy grows.
i dreamt of tranquil moons and nightingales,
the sun an amber flame against the sky,
i dreamt of old romance and holy grails,
the evening closing in, the day drifts by.
the petals fall, soft pinks, confetti thin,
cool walls of fragrant blooms that fall too soon,
a gentle breeze that brushes on my skin,
reflections pale, a lazy afternoon.
my soul bathed clean, the sunlight blinds the eye
the wild rose must lament and so do i.

she wanders through the forests and the groves,
her bare feet scarce upon the mossy ground,
as day sinks into night without a sound
and sunset fills the skies with pinks and mauves;
and like a restless breeze she wildly roves,
a love-lost woodland dryad, summer-crowned
and who could ever guess where she was bound,
or why the sea so whispered near the coves.
her eyes as bright as a white-feathered dove,
beyond the river, near a sheltered tree,
she rests awhile finds lilies for her hair,
their flowery mist no prettier than she,
(enchanting in the hearkened, vibrant air,)
her heart soft-brimmed with longing and with love.

an eerie song that sings of secret trysts,
of long lost love, of desolate despair
that climbs upon the ghostly midnight air,
where winter seas are bathed in cloudy mists.
and i am captivated by the cries
of melancholy winds and stormy waves
that sing around the lonely ocean caves
and drown the heavens with their lovelorn sighs.
a voice that whispered; "once i loved her so
that the wide sea could not keep us apart,
the sound you heard the beating of my heart,
or murmur of the tide, you'll never know."
as if the sea was haunted by a ghost,
who called my name along the weary coast.

Barnacles begin their lives as free-swimming larvae, ebbing and flowing with the tide.  
Most are eaten, some wash ashore, a few survive long enough to attach
with freakishly strong glue their minute larvae heads to a final rock- strewn home.
There they spend the rest of their lives with feathery feet poking out of a hardened shell, filtering the sea for whatever happens to come within reach.

Why the barnacle starts out free
and ends up bonded to some god-forsaken rock
to alternately dry out and be fed at the whim of the tide
is just one of life's many small mysteries.

While barnacles are meant to lead a primarily static life
human beings are not.
We are meant to flow
to settle and ground, uproot and travel
to seek
to speak well and listen better
to find meaningful answers.

We always have the choice to let go
of whatever safe, high ground we're frantically clinging to
though it will mean not knowing where we'll ultimately wash ashore.

Letting go can feel like being caught in a rip current.  
What I know about rip currents:
They pluck hapless beachgoers from shore and pull them out to the ocean deep.  
If you're caught in one and try swimming back to blessed land
you won't make any headway.
Eventually you'll grow tired and drown.

The only way to survive is to stroke like mad
in a totally counterintuitive direction
parallel to the solid ground you desperately want to reach
until you're out of the narrow river ******* you out to sea.

I've decided to unglue my little larvae head
from its rocky, self-imposed, falsely-safe perch.
Let the current carry me where my feet no longer touch the known.

It's up to me to swim in the right direction until I'm free.