Sheath of feeling. Words groping to touch air.
She said seawards-
"Salt in the seas
like the blood in tears,
a forced forment of waves:
our cries, rushed into
life, and death,
a barge that carries
souls to the other side
of nowhere."
The moon slides
into a shell
conch, cone, harp, volva
that hears
our whisperings-
breeze, seafoam.
This season of weathered wood, amniotic
scent.
Inner forces drive the ocean.
Mystery emerges and recedes like waves
opening dreams.
Osprey and clouds sail high over surf.
Print the soul in the flag to fray.
Rocks rubbing in water become sand.
Wet sand under the pincers of crabs who burrow.
The warp and weave of the ocean slapping
at our consciousnesses.
You came, on a minion of steel, the noise
of condensed crowds. Like an engine
of grief. Imprinted with caustic
wax winds. Ripe as a
salt flower.
With blue love on your lips
the colour of seaspray.
≈
The sea drops its showers
of diamonds on our skin.
We waited for each other
in the violins
of wind.
The water
thick with history.
I placed my heart
in your stone
chest.
A wave gives to another wave
its white wedding foam.
Here in the depths of understanding
among the seahorses and anemones,
graves, lovers, sunken dreams,
buried treasures.
"Love, love until the night
falls swiftly."
Pablo Neruda
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(7th sketch in series, first iteration of this one) Woman with Flowers Flowers, props upholding the woman. The flowers, fragrant, imaginar...
