The tide of time
except for all the shells.
The water rises in its own language.
It takes the words out of your mouth.
It will take the bones out of your body’s closet
and scatter them among the pebbles.
The spent ocean dries off
the land’s edges.
The spent earth fills the ocean’s jars.
The ocean will still be your tired king
when all the mothering waters have gone.
You, like a gull, rise.
You, like a stone, dive.
You, like the sun, descend
Again and again and again.
The sea in your head
The sea in your bones
is looking across the ocean.
The language waits-
the language of water.