My Ocean

The years have gone,
I have aged,
my ocean is constant.

My feet remember
the gentle grazing of fine sand
against my soft soles.
My legs remember
the soothing smooth water
lapping up my calves
as I skirt along the edge.

Sheer cliffs of sand
carved by the scalpel of tides
loosen their grains,
unfurl in smoky drifts,
beat against my shins.

Whitecaps of clouds hover over
the flat infinite horizon –
a perfect seam between sea and sky.

The years are gone,
I am older,
my ocean remains.

Necklace

We gather together,
rocks hewn from solitary quarries,
layers of sand, soil, fossils,
the sediment in our souls.

We sit in a circle,
a rite older than our species.

A filament of trust, love and hope
threads a necklace of glass,
the alchemy of communion.

Gems of polished imperfection,
united by our clasp.

Blossom

The clasp has snapped.

My clenched fist flies open,
fingers unfurling –
petals revealing stamen
stooped through a bitter winter.

My open palm rests,
surrendering to whatever may fly
into its soft centre.

No calluses to cushion;
just newborn skin.

Heading for land
after ‘Not Waving but Drowning’ by Stevie Smith

From the shore, I see her bobbing.
I know how far she is out,
not waving, but drowning.

I plunge into icy black water.
“Hold on to me!”
Her body is dead weight
leaning on mine,
pulling me under.

Her grip is weak,
my breath short,
I feel her slip away.

I pull her towards me.
“I can swim!”
She tears away from my grasp
and turns out to sea.

I do not want to drown.
I turn around,
head for land,
and swim for me.

Endurance

I yearn to transcend this timeless time,
pitiful progress measured
by shuffling shadows
across ice white sheets.

I gaze upon crimson tinted horse chestnut trees,
giant above my two paned window.
Their tremulous blossoms offer me
a paradox of hope and despair –
I am here and they are there.

I endure impotence I hoped never to know again.
Erect stamens mock my broken frame.
Bound to my bed by tendons of pain,
mute rage burns my throat.

I resign myself to fate –
infinite suspension of hope.

Ordinary

how did it take me so long
to discover ordinary?
Where was it hidden,
obscured by the veil of my sight.

perhaps I just had to grow into it,
like my first bike,
trembling under me,
eventually solid in my balancing trajectory.

was it there, all along,
a universe of truth in a mundane moment,
lingering patiently until I could surrender
special and exceptional and unique.

once such a threat,
now a relief,
liberation from my precarious perch,
permission to just be me.