Atlantic Breathing
| “We
ourselves feel that what we are doing is just a drop in the ocean. But
the ocean would be less because of that missing drop.” – Mother Teresa |
| Atlantic Breathing long gulls cry as they pull sea to shore pointed teeth of outer reef foam at the mouth in never end of lash and crash of waves granite fingers point the way back into grueling roil and toil of anticipation to own more land stipple starfish and ripple clam cling to vine and stone lullabies awash with right whale song to walk your sea-cluttered edges melting water and sand natural sculptures into your blurred line of horizon while capturing ocean gems of glass and shell ships bobble like ocean flowers cutting through viridian depths to stir seaweed beds until they weave like girlish chorus preparing for a well-metered chant crick and crack of gray birds speak in klatches of big ones that got away and dolphins dive deep then drive to draw arcs in sky then drop through wind-capped wildness like sleek commas not knowing exactly where to be loons leave blue in evening skies in fluttering against coastal reeds while others seek night in burled trees sucking salt from briny air night hovers close gap between night and day a ruffled fog swings wide arms around last raptured flight of egret’s snap-eyed drop and out beyond in sudden stars, water palpitates pants and continues to lap with lathered tongue and ever gnaw with smaller nibbles a sudden hush, secrets of midnight’s nightly swarm a sought warmth moon-bathing seals stumble on granite out-croppings to pass the night less fearful The Atlantic sighs and breathes ancient aching annotations noted by old geezers who no longer sail but shuck clams and tell you their stories of wrecks of ocean mysteries and of the sea as if she were a woman moody as hell yet so seductive that they yearn and yarn to anyone who walks their clapboard docks or sit upon their granite shelves to mark time that is counted in numbers of waves Poem By Carol Dezjarlais |
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