He beckons me forth,
my sanded toes dusted like candied fruit,
ready to be washed clean
by the delicate froth of white salted foam.
The hush of his tide brushes my bones,
black glass whispers,
rhythmic charm,
his fingers, luminous,
glint blue as he parades the coast,
curling around my ankles.
The moon sways,
singing silvered lullabies
rocking the earth
so that he sloshes, just so,
like the tilt of a glass
to your lips.
How could you not want to take
just one long, slow, sip?
I long to taste the briny wonder of that deep,
to float upon belonging.
The wind crests over the rolling water,
wrapping me in his cashmere grip,
damp earth, the raw green of kelp,
and butterscotch,
as if the sun had spun sugar
from his sweetness on the shore of day
and left it here in the breeze of night
to cool.
I wade into that ink,
assured by the calm and the air's friendly warmth
until I am marine to my middle.
My lips part in tendered sigh,
for at last, I feel I have found home,
but then, the sweeping of my heart
becomes the sweeping of my feet from under me.
I am dragged along the floor,
waves undulating viciously,
taking the whole of me with merciless desire.
His currents replace my breath,
my thoughts circling,
as if swirling into the drain,
I wanted to be a siren,
and didn't realize the sea was he.

'Twas but three years ago
I set my pen to sea, a vessel born
a fragile craft of ink and fervent flame
with compass cast in yearning, not in security

The waves lapped soft with secrets,
a few saddening,
fewer sweet.

Each line cast: a current pulling at my feet
no charts existed
no charts exist
for waters this deep nor wide
where poets dream,
struggle,
fight,
cry,
accept

and ancient myths
shared from one to the next
reside

The sky, a parchment vast with thousands of drifting stars
drew constellations shaped like hopeful scars

i
you
we,
search for love – the poet’s atlantis
a realm where whispered truths and passions flow


clouds
like veils
concealed what lay ahead
storms were born from longing
words went unsaid
crucial words
I chased reflections that danced on the waves
illusions
forged in the poet’s unforgiving mind

the siren’s song – a melody of doubt –
called me close
not once, but repeatedly
–
somewhere
I know
Janus smiles
–
called me close then took away my sound
took away my hearing, and my voice.
and what was it that was so alluring?
the shimmer? the glint? the gleam?
or just the ghost of a forgotten dream?

Ink dripped like rain upon my weathered scroll,
a log of my journeys,
a testament to my voyages,
each line, each stanza, each poem,
an ebb of the sea carrying me ever further on my path

There, at the ocean’s floor
lost in fragments,
scattered arrays —
a compass
broken,
fractured remnants

one night
tides of silence
waves of wait
the poet’s curse
the lover’s fate

until

a flash, a beacon–
love’s distant flame–
guided through tempest,
called my name.

–
still it glows
a lighthouse, for all ships
that pass
–

not all who wonder
sink or drown
not all condemned to be a poet,
a lover,
a feeler,
are left to fall
fall
fall
ever lower into the depths of the cold
dark
deep
waters.


Beneath the veil of night,
a whisper grew
a secret kept
only silence knew.
the heart, a vessel sailing starry seas
found shore where love’s soft voice
dissolved unease

no longer lost amid the waves and foam,
the poet’s quest
had brought him safely home
adorning not treasure, nor gold, nor gems
but a reason to put down the pen
a reason to discern
the clouds from the storm


I stepped onto sands
warm beneath my feet
where time and tides and two hearts
met

a poet’s journey
ended

for now, when he
causes the ink and parchment to embrace
once more
it is not for the same cause as once was
–
to express his discomfort,
drifting about on the waters:
his only support;
a 4 legged stool,
built solely to hold his skeleton-
but never built to bear the rest
–
but rather to express
the dilation of his pupils
as dawn approaches, and the
the morning spills like
honeyed gold;
a whispered warmth the
night can’t hold.



the ink now flows from calmer, steadier hands
the poet, now having resigned himself
to the discomfort of the ocean
finally lands.

–
She is my peace
her arms my warmth
her smile my joy
her love, my home.
--

Day by day I find myself drowning in feelings I cannot put my finger on,
Not like a carefree momentum-fueled skater basking in wind echoing off the dips of concrete;
Rather a feeble insect surfing in the linoleum of a running sink, barely missing the drain with each wave.
Albeit, I am the one turning the faucet. If only I would turn it off.

I am surrounded by a pool of my tears.
Familiar, slow, melodies travel through my nerve endings.
The memories are all I can feel in my frail, numb body.
Why am I shaking again?
Is it because I miss the validation I got from my teachers in kindergarten?
Or the unfinished self-portrait in front of me that reminds me too much of my insufficiency?
Perhaps the unbearable gaze of ones who only have love to spare? Love is enough…right?

I’m glancing all over my enclosure, for anything to distract from the thoughts caving in on me.
My eyes fixate on the photo strips on the wall,
My other home grinning back at me.
Half the world but only a text away.
Why can’t I do it?
They will ask how I am. I can’t tell them,
That I have to go back.
I cannot live in this silent house no longer.
Please set me free,
To where I really belong.

As I sit in my shallow pool,
every movement carries meaning.
I shift
a wave appears.
I touch
a ripple dissolves into silence.

In this still water,
I witness my connection to reality
and reality, in turn, acknowledges me.
When I force the waves,
push them with all my might,
they recoil and push back,
equal and unwavering.

As if to say:
all you do
will return to you
in equal kind.

So I see my influence
if not on the world,
then at least on this small surface of it.
My own lunar pull
on a body of water
that never needed the ocean.

I used to try to keep still,
to let the water settle,
to find some perfect calm.
But stillness, too, was a choice
a part of the dance.

And when I moved again,
the waves would rise.
The world would rumble.
And I would swim.

Seashells hold echos
Of life beneath waves
Hold one to your ear;
Listen, can you hear their story?

I float in my raft of time.

  ~~

     ~~Each passing wave is all sublime~~

           ~~Each passing wave takes, all crime~~

                    ~~

                              ~~­I bounce off these walls~~

                       ~~I’m confined~~

                       I start in the present

I am your past.                        I am your future.

I am last.                                          I am nurture.

                       I am on my last row;
                        For now, I shall go.
                          Darkness awaits
                                For none.

Your beautiful wave washed over me,
When I was a lonely shore off the sea.

Wrapping its elegance over my sands,
The way we hold each others' lonely hands.

Replaced the dust with dazzling sea glasses,
Brought back the sparkle to my heart's masses.