while telling secrets to the wind---
like how metaphors grow into years and become big--
telling us to be better
and to be kind
the salt like old pain--the earth knew we were coming
and cried love
as well as dread
and spoke often to the moon about what to do
while softly pulling up to the shore
rolling in and out of context
mixing sand and stone
knowing many bones would be there soon
what is prayer? said the ocean--
wishful thinking. said the moon--
often the ocean wished--or prayed--
for a great lover
to crack open the black night sky
spilling messy light everywhere to say 'i know i love you
because it's you and secrets are what we do best'
but the ocean knew
even with the light laying across her surface
she was bound to the earth--
it was the questions that sent earthquakes
across her dark depths
capsized boats and turned towns--
will you tidal up to these aching bones
roving eyes
to speak truth
while standing stock still
at the edge of tide?
will you spill your fishy secrets
like an accident over goosebumped bodies
lying prostrate on the sands?
the ocean knows
the excess of our excuse--
soft skin
and buried letters
the ocean knows not to believe in shame
the color of silver and blue
No comments:
Post a Comment