Saturday, February 27, 2010

Whalebone Junction

Of the horizon's curve, sequence
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                       

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