Thursday, October 9, 2014

Land and Sea

 I take an arm's length to answer you.
You ask why there's a pause, like a solemn prayer wedged beneath us-
you insist to know before I join your lips in holy prolonging
or you join mine in holy speech. Briefly we meet, at the rise of the day
at its closing, like meetings would bewitch us. Briefly we touch, a peg of shyness here
a splash of distance there and minutes buoying without prior alarm
it catches me off guard, even though you've done it well before- questioning
I hesitate to let you know my secret,
my scales are adjusted to salty environments and the gills are used to severe oxygenation.
You will never know.

I ask about your three new scars, the ones you tuck safely under a smoking shirt
of red and black. I can read your scars, the sore parts of your skin the same way you read
the newspaper, skimming for surprise at the headlines.
It is true you've damaged half your arm and half your brain on the way to meet me
You've lost flights in timber and I've lost patience-we have both made enough
 sacrifices to last us a lifetime, now before you drop another coral into my waters
tell me really, how have you been?.

Hover high ahead, be careful where you land I tell you
there's enough danger if you rock me three times, sideways
before we break like a wave and hurry for another day
we'll save the snippets -the mundane, the daily-for next meeting
I am sure we would meet when the two poles salute
or when the equator trades places with the ozone
and you tell me not to tear, tears are made up of salty waters you say
what difference would they make to the ocean?

Now do you still ask about pauses in our speech
after all of my desperation to fix one sentence for our egos?
let's string a few words to satisfy flight times and nose dives
only question marks pop in my head each time I try to answer your questions.
Questions breed more questions like rabbits, unable to stop
so low, let us not venture into the forbidden territories.
Yet before you flap your wings, before I rub my scales against the coral
know this is why we are like a traffic light on orange
I love too much the ocean, my local, my coral and you
too much your cloudless sky.

Artwork credit: Sea Land and Sky by Jeff Montogomery, courtesy of Google search. more on the artist here:

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