We have the luck of being lovers
who have struggled to love and somehow,
after decades of riptide and undertow, we still
find ourselves loving and dancing, our currents
driven by more than desire and hope.
There was a moment tonight when
the mandolin player transformed his fingers
into a magical surge and I looked at you,
the slight wave of your head, the secret
smile on your lips, and every cliff I’ve ever
built around my heart collapsed in a single
watery moment as we danced, my hand floating
along your chest as we turned, my smile incandescent
through sudden tears, and I knew I would swim every
heartache again just to love and be loved like this.
Posts Tagged ‘ocean’
Gravitational Pull
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged dancing, long marriage, marriage, ocean on June 12, 2026| 7 Comments »
I left the ocean
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged ocean, time on April 23, 2026| 13 Comments »
but the ocean followed me
to the mountains, bringing
its vastness to the day.
Sometimes it takes me a whole hour
to swim to the other side of a minute.
When I arrive, somehow dry,
at my desk in my chair,
there is salt on my skin, currents
in my breath, scent of brine
still tangled in my hair.
Because It’s Hard to Not Know
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged connection, friendship, love, ocean, support on July 20, 2024| 8 Comments »
for P
All day I imagine my love
is a great ocean that lifts you
on a warm and gentle tide
so all you need to do today
is float. Float and let yourself
be carried. Float and know
that in this hour nothing
need be done. Perhaps
if you are still today, even
for a moment, you can feel
the way these distant waves
are near as your own sweet breath.
The weight of all that scares you
doesn’t change. I know. I imagine
I lift that, too. Lift it all until
you are certain no matter
how much things change,
you are not alone.
What the Mermaids Sang
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged depths, ekphrasis, klimt, ocean, truth on November 11, 2023| 9 Comments »
after Mermaids (1898) by Gustav Klimt
Truths are hidden from the surface.
—motto of Carl von Rokitansky, head of the Vienna School of Medicine, who influenced Klimt
We’ve traveled to the waters dark and cold
where the only light to be found
is the light you learn to make with your own body.
We have traveled to the depths
where we were crushed by pressure,
where the only way to move is slow,
where the only nourishment is what is dead,
and now we arrive on shores of gold.
There are seas in you, deep trenches
you’d rather perhaps not explore.
But you must meet the mystery—
must be changed by all you cannot know.
It will widen your eyes forever.
Dear swimmer, this change is the treasure.
Blood, Like Salt Water
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged ecology, ocean, sustainability, treasure on May 27, 2023| 10 Comments »
There is in each of us an ocean
full of secrets strange and luminous,
an ocean with depths we do not understand,
with dark we often fear,
a place almost impossible to visit
and yet it moves with us
everywhere we go,
informs every conversation,
underlies every thought.
There is treasure there,
but it belongs to the depths
the way the heart
belongs to the body.
Everything depends on this.
Lately, I’m learning to think of treasure
only as a verb,
not as a thing to be taken.
I’m learning that to live
is to be an ocean.
Temporal
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged help, helplessness, kayleen, ocean, ritual on October 20, 2022| 7 Comments »
for Kayleen
As the tide rose and the waves grew nearer,
she took a stick and drew in the sand
a small labyrinth. In the center
she placed a dried tangle of roots,
some sodden gray feathers,
and the broken open shells of oysters.
White stone at the entrance.
Warm sun on our skin.
On the short path, we wrote with a stick
the names of people and places we longed to heal.
All around us the whirling of dark sea birds
seeking higher places to land.
All around us the sound of waves crashing on rocks,
sound of cliffs slowly eroding into sand.
Having Lost Sight Now of the Shore
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged compassion, grief, humanity, ocean on November 13, 2021| 7 Comments »
Wading into the ocean of grief,
I feel how the tides tug
at the story of how I arrived here—
the waves don’t tear my story away,
no, but float its fabric around me
till I wear it more loosely
and meet the raw self inside the story.
How many of us are here
in these waters learning
new ways to swim?
Already we’re deeper, deeper in.
Though it is a terrible gift to be here,
I fall in love with us all,
with our common humanity.
How sweet it is to meet each other
with our vulnerability glittering on our skin,
our bodies more buoyant
than we ever dreamed.
Why I Take Deep Breaths
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged breath, breathing, grief, ocean, swimming on October 25, 2021| 6 Comments »
In this deep sea of grief,
it is hard to trust
my own buoyancy—
great waves break on me,
take my breath away,
I’m submerged by loss,
yet with so little effort
I rise. Just by being alive,
I rise. So I splutter.
So I’m graceless.
So I cannot see the shore.
But my friend reminds me,
there’s no way
that I can do this wrong.
So I let myself be carried
by currents unknown,
and each time I breathe—
I feel myself rise.
With so little effort,
I rise.
The Tide is High
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Blondie, buoyancy, music, ocean, salt, singing on April 4, 2021| 8 Comments »
lyrics from "The Tide Is High" by John Holt, 1967
Something about the unsinkable reggae beat,
and in just three notes, I’m again my young self,
dancing alone in my bedroom,
singing as if I am one with the song,
as if it were written just for me,
I’m not the kind of girl
who gives up just like that, oh no, oh!
And singing it now on a Sunday afternoon,
I’m caught in a surprise riptide of joy
and start to lilt around the room,
though just moments ago I was weeping,
buried beneath the salt of worry,
but here I am, dancing alone,
hips rocking, my shoulders a rolling sea,
my voice surfing above the bright swell of trumpets.
The tide is high but I’m holding on.
Sometimes a song is a lifeline,
not because it pulls me out of the water,
but because it tosses me deeper in,
and I feel I’m no longer trapping myself
in a life the size of a teacup—
no, in this moment I am oceanic,
an Atlantic of joy, a Pacific of wonder
vast enough to hold everything,
and the tide is high
and all that salt only makes me more buoyant
as I play in the generous waves.
One Especially When It Rains
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged desert, loss, ocean, poem, poetry, rain on January 15, 2020| 2 Comments »
For My Sister Across the Ocean
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged missing, ocean, poem, poetry, sister on November 1, 2015| 4 Comments »
In the empty kitchen I read
your letter out loud,
try to speak in your tones
as if I might trick my ears,
but there are too many waves
in my voice, I can hardly keep my head
above the water, they are deep
the tides between here and there.
And the Winner Is
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged love, ocean, poem, poetry on March 31, 2014| 1 Comment »
Sometimes I would rather not know love.
I would rather not know that the pearl
is born of an irritation. I tell myself
I do not want iridescence. I do not need
one more beautiful thing to collect
on a string. I make love so small. But love
arrives anyway, less pearl and more current,
more tide, more sea. Immeasurable, though I try
to measure. Unknowable, though I want
to know. It is full of dark and cold and deep
deep places where I will likely never go.
It is only the surface that knows the light.
Is it so wrong to be afraid? Sometimes
I would rather not know love. Damn this day of tears.
But that is when the invitation is most clear.
There is a wrestling inside, love versus pride,
a match I must be willing to enter, even though
I know the only way to win is to lose.
Through the Hourglass
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged death, life, loss, love, ocean, poem, poetry, value on April 14, 2013| 1 Comment »
It disappears, the shell,
just as you reach to pick
it up. The wave, indifferent
to value, draws it in.
The shell is more precious then.
Because it is gone.
Like when a dear one dies. It doesn’t matter
if it were a surprise or something
expected. Suddenly, the last time
we saw them alive—maybe
holding a peach or sitting
in a chair—it doesn’t matter
how simple the moment was,
we replay it with a golden hue,
as if every second of listening
to bird songs or talking
about the day’s events
were precious. Remember the scent?
Remember the light as it fell just so?
Remember how normal it was.
As the normal is precious—
sitting under a tree, or walking
the beach choosing stones,
or washing dishes, making the bed,
or eating oatmeal with blueberries,
or answering the phone to hear
the other person say hello.
How easy, how impossible
to reach now for what never can be held.
For a moment we think we have it,
but our hands come up with only sand
and what’s left of the tide running
through the our fingers.
go ahead tanka
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged ocean, perspective, tanka on November 21, 2011| 1 Comment »
