Island As if I only came here to smell the wrack and weeds rotting on the shore to gather stones and count the bones of gulls wave-washed to a glistening white reminiscence of the space between us between what is said and left unsaid between each breaking arc of rush and recede and constant need for one another I stand before wind-driven salt and sand torn from the ocean man destroys And yet each breath is like a lover’s kiss that leads to always wanting more a word caress and gaze between us that is without possession or violence In this day of storm only silence can adequately express my desire to keep on keeping on, living in wonder Wonder that the world is turning and returning in creation that there are no boundaries nations or salvation to receive no religions to believe in as in body the heart unfolds and leads down the passageways of days and midnight corridors of joy and grief I have followed all my life All my days, an animal in the kingdom of animals all my days, a man lost in civilization all my days of peace and strife trying to be more than a rune or glyph of flesh dressing up the syntax of bones On an island of pleasure and sorrow life is a metaphor life in all its permutations and death in all its manifestations and sea birds are the only winged angels allowed to descend from heaven where, along the shore weeping saints are frozen in black stone and marked with white salt trails of tears stolen from and returned, after, to the sea. LHM © 2014
Posted on: Fri, 22 Aug 2014 02:11:25 +0000
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