the edge of the sea

the edge of the sea




at the edge of the sea, the waves
(like one endless column of hooded monks)
march in and kneel at the shore
    I am drowned in their incessant
    murmur, chasing up, onto the sand,
    surrounding me, they whisper sly invitations
    and rushing away, their foamy fingers draw me down


the sea approaches my soul, by inches,
it echoes the murmurs of my heart
the sea is in me for one billion years
and I, in it; and it is forever calling me back


no man forgets the sea entirely;
no woman can resist its pull forever;
    all of us, as children of the deepest
    longing, of life for itself,
    will sway like corral fans
    in the ebb and flow, forever,
    with their whispers in our hearts
    and it's salt in our tears.