and syncopation of churned water, buoys
and daymarkers in the distance,
lighthouses and low bayberry on the shore--
Sea-spray beads on my skin
unnoticed. Wind chafes my face.
Undertow erodes sand from my feet.
I can stand ankle deep against the ebb.
I can be alone
with the ocean's brooding, its extremes.
I savor divine discontent,
my sanctuary, hunger for salt,
the basket of broken shells beside a door.
I can rearrange driftwood near the fire place,
leave the damper open in winter,
disappear in the dune's shadow
on the coldest day in November.
I can wrap boiled wool
around my shoulders, my grief,
dampen my beloved's faith
with a beveled mirror, a sand rose.
I can watch for wild horses,
bury my mother-of-pearl
in a grave beneath pine needles. I can write
unexpected words in the sand:
surrender, caesura, donnee.
(c)Elaine Walters McFerron 2004
from Double Solitude
No comments:
Post a Comment