he tells me dark secrets
and paints colors on the shore
where the salt mist speaks to him
in voices heard no more
along he wades, watching
the growing ground at his feet
careful to not crush creatures in the surf
***** crawling to bed themselves
in their own tugging time
before the moon full tides
slowly, he walks
as if one long step
might fling him into the abyss
he does not fear the fall,
he knows, it comes to all,
fishmongers and kings
falcons with their mighty wings
all share the descent, as the sea
turns from blue to black
while I hide far inland
he paints me dark secrets
vanishing tracks in the sand,
and I long to hear his brush strokes,
to see what vast weary waves reveal,
through his teary eyes
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 6:37 PM UTC
he tells me dark secrets
and paints colors on the shore
where the salt mist speaks to him
in voices heard no more
along he wades, watching
the growing ground at his feet
careful to not crush creatures in the surf
***** crawling to bed themselves
in their own tugging time
before the moon full tides
slowly, he walks
as if one long step
might fling him into the abyss
he does not fear the fall,
he knows, it comes to all,
fishmongers and kings
falcons with their mighty wings
all share the descent, as the sea
turns from blue to black
while I hide far inland
he paints me dark secrets
vanishing tracks in the sand,
and I long to hear his brush strokes,
to see what vast weary waves reveal,
through his teary eyes
inspired by Donovan Leitch, the Scotch Irish folk singer who long ago taught me all things return to the sea from whence they came. Accompanying image from the grand Pacific at dusk, in 1976 http://www.flickr.com/photos/18878095@N07/5882001025/
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