Again, by the Sea

We walk again by the sea. Rain

In and on, over and through the bay –

Grey and green, gentle, and quiet,

Patient and sweeping, whispering,

Wreathing and watching – watching us.

Watching the sea – green and blue,

Grey and white, purple, and endless.

Endless to the farthest reach

Of our gaze. Our minds slowly

Slowing enough to be quiet – quiet.

Walking and watching the sea –

Shimmy and shiver – shiver

And shine and shudder,

And shimmer and twitch,

And glitter and tremble and gleam.

And stutter and whisper,

And moan and sigh – sigh

And snarl and roar and hammer,

And toss its hair, roll its shoulders,

Shuffle its feet on the patient shore.

Impatient waves rolling and spilling,

Plunging and collapsing, surging

In ruffling, rippling ripples, rippling

All along the yellow and white and

Gold and creamy, egg yolk sand.

Raggedy wind peeling us open.

The sea singing. We smell its spice,

Smell storms and salt and sea wrack,

And joy and yearning and mourning.

The sea singing stony, clear, endless.

Singing in whispers and grumbles,

Humming deep in its ancient throat,

Breathing in and in and out – Washing kelp.

Singing in some lost blue-green-black language.

And we kissed then – only – only in whispers.