The ocean is soft

The ocean is soft, I’d never noticed before. The waves crash, the tides claw back, the seagulls shriek, but the ocean is soft

The engine of the last car rumbles into silence, and I’m left with my own footprints, and his next to mines.

The waves are breathing, steady then erratic, a little like the hearts that lean in then apart.

Shadows touch each other, the sun does not die but becomes the moon – round and beaming, a light that is shy, alight

Your fingers cradle, it’s forgotten how to loosen when your fingers lace each other, knit into each other

knuckle on knuckle, the ocean’s soft

the only sounds come from your own chest, and his.

The ocean is breathing

the ocean is breathing

the ocean is breaking.

The dream to sea

i think of embers burnt in ocean’s flame

till it blazed the spent wood back to life;

and the songs, drowned by centuries, crawling

its body back to surface, brought its fingers through

the ships of shore till they broke their

strings of safety and dissipated, as the wind does.

 

i think of hull colliding hull till they grew to

love the other’s broken heart, till the winds that

carried souls breathed a new beginning and

the night that sunk ahead whistled day apart

and dark alight. there’s a melody to the way the

sea of dreams wavers, inhales, lets its fantasies undone

 

and there’s a way he folds, unfolds the waves till

every lapse’s examined, embraced, caught

in the clasp between his arm; till he loves

unrestrained. there’s a slowness in the way

he holds my eyes to silence and my mind to peace, like

there’s nothing to be said but this.