How far? I ask
(is the ocean)
whenever we are somewhere
the ocean is not –
often comes the reply
“not far..”
(Perhaps a few hour’s or a day’s drive)
‘Not far’
is a distance measured
on the scent of a breeze
something palpable in the atmosphere
in fog rolling across the land
‘Not far’
is the rhythmic, plaintiff cry
marking that place
where shore and sea
precipitously meet.
My daughter says ‘Mother Earth always wears a watch’ How does She know what color to paint the sky? or when to quiet nature’s sounds? Absentmindedly she reaches for a bunch of colored pencils.
Stepping across the threshold leaving one reality, embracing another – if only for a few moments Inside a fan mutely, slowly bathes the room in a slight breeze long, slender blades dip (ever so slightly) as if to caress my husband resting in the bed below were it not for the four posters standing sentry…
I hear the cicadas buzzing and find their cast-off clothing in the garden Yellowing leaves are stuck to the patio table Summer’s hot breath doesn’t fool Fall is poised right around the corner. Ugh.
Eden sacred ancient sanctuary vines climb through mist to the blue light and explode into exotic summer Beneath the earth shines with winter frost Peace
Her worn collar long faded and stained used to be hot summer pink with lime-colored palm trees dancing ‘round Set against a pale yellow-white coat – she might as well have been wearing diamonds Later came the grass and mud, chocolate (swiped pastry) and a few garden remnants… over time each stain became an embedded…
After reaching the waterfront she settled on the old concrete bulkhead next door I at the end of the dock Maisie rested against my hip as Fox and I regarded each other from a suitable distance A few water birds passed lazily overhead but did not disturb And so we sat ignoring, and wondering about…