Consumed

On the last day at the beach
I walk full of words
and full of love
that collects in me
like all the days
of a lifetime
in one moment

I am the sands
after the storm
that displays the beauty
and the bounty of the sea.

Shell, pink sea weed,
stones the size of a hand
and glass washed smooth
next to cages and bits of frayed rope
at my feet.
I want to gather it all in my pockets
and drag myself back to the inland
with my treasures
no matter how heavy
and cumbersome
they become.

It is my gourd of water
on the desert.
The spray of saltiness
on my lips
the longing for more days
like this day.

I fall to my knees
at the edge of the sea
like falling
vulnerable,
enchanted
and gladly consumed
by so much love.

Shining and Heavy with Love

I owe the universe a great debt
for letting my soul
return to this much
joy once again.

The payment is lengthy
and has me swapping slumber
and a single breath at a time,
gasping with pleasure
toward the end
of all endings,

each small coin
shining and heavy
with love,

until the fuse
of this lifeline
fizzles
at the frayed ends
of  these measured days

and releases me back
to forgetting
how it all fits

together.

3:07 a.m.

Shave a sliver
of this silver moon

from the dark of the night
and I will shiver

as you whisper
my name.

Wake me
with the breath

of your breathing
and I will moan

low in my belly
wanting more

than the imagination
can promise.

Seascape

Sit for a moment in silence in my chair
and watch the way the sun makes a firey red path
away from the horizon,
accurate as any explorer with a well worn sextant
on the sea where the shore is in sight.

Come to me and I will gladly give you lodging, a berth,
in the oakum mess of my hair
and in the arms that ache for the warmth
of skin.  This journey is so long
and the sea so wide.

My ship is so small.

It means something to breathe quietly
from the chair of a woman
who sails into new waters
looking for calm harbors -

watching the horizon
for home.

Caution is a marking on the bow of a stranger,
a signal flag
that cannot be overlooked.

No Return

On the days the valley of the body is empty,
this place where stones are cold
and sand blows biting me
in the face,
I seek all that might
restore me
to the ghost
I once was.

I pray
that the ways
of pretending joy
are over.

Even on dark days
where clouds touch the water,
this shore, ocean and tides
fill me with healing
like the voice of God
whispering my name.

I can sleep here
and I dream
of only
the ways the winds
and the sun
make me whole.

Here I cast out my line
into the surf
knowing the hook
will drag the body
from where it has settled
and does not want to return.

Learning to Swim

I choke.
I sputter.
I give up
and rise to the surface
of the water and float,
resigned to the ways
that water releases me
even when I am lost
in the waves
of doubt
like today.

This clean and clear womb
comforts me under the open sky
and I swim in peace
under the stars
and watch the moon rise
over the mountain
and climb
toward heaven.

In this dreaming of no fear
I learn to swim
with so much strength
toward a shore
that welcomes me
like home.

Before We Were Born

There is no medal
given for the softness
of mothering.

No degree awarded
or measurement of the joy
 a woman gathers
as she gently offers her nipple
to the mouth of a child
and he attaches himself
hungrily to the milk
lifted from the center of her bones.

The body gleans
what it needs
from the warmth of skin
and the flow of the universe
from one soul to another
in the silent exchange
of these moments.

The soul is sustained
by the loving kindness
curled into the days and nights
of a lifetime of visiting
the bond made
before we were born.