Brine

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Blue and white extend far beyond
the open sky, melting the sea,
its turquoise expanse crashing
into white waves. Bubbles of foam in a mad
rushing caress caught between water and shore.

Brine mixed with the smell of fish and seaweed
evaporates into the air.
Earth and sea emit a primal sound
that rocks me to and fro
soothing my tousled emotions.

Beyond the coastline, wild palms
frayed by the careening wind,
their fronds point arrow-like
toward the cobalt sky.

Snowbirds in groups stand huddled
and distant. They observe my approach
in a diffident stance, and shy away
as soon as I am too close.

Pelicans, one body in flight,
swerve gracefully above the horizon,
each part of a greater whole.
Their motion, a symphony in action,
touches me deep within.
A beauty so perfect
it sips of the divine
and startles my uneven breaths, caught
between whim, and insight.

Barefoot on the sand, I spread my feet
wide to the touch of broken seashells;
somewhere in between pleasure and pain,
I imagine a massage of organs churned
in the motion, and my foot opens, unfurls
distends, breathes.

The sun glows tangerine before sinking
below the horizon, pulling with it
my discomfort and any critical sense left.
As the night descends with
its loose cloak of velvet blackness,
humor enlivens my own shores:
this country of impatient physicality
now approaching acceptance.

I stand in my flesh,
more compassionate,
distilled by the pickle of vodka.

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Snow child

photo credit Josh Hays

from the Russian Fairytale Snegurochka, The Snow Maiden

the snow came
twirling, dancing
in infinitesimal patterns
of the finest geometry
each its unique design
an imprint from the heavens
of sparkling light
as though faeries dancing
in twilight tremors

there is a muted softness
in the air I breathe
as though echoless and magical
in the distance the laughter
of children playing
perhaps I will make my own
snow-child come to life

eyes sparkling
with sapphire clarity
and the glow of life in her cheeks
only it is with care
and the caress of compassion
that my arms might bend
folding to enclose but
not to grasp
in that fine dance
that is selfless love
sending forth on the
seraphim wings of freedom
wild and longing
into the candor
of a wintry night

I am the wind

I am the wind
Whistling helter skelter
Through the leaves
The sand on the shore
Washed by water
Again and again
The footprints of all the feet
Big and small
Swaggering and pattering
That compressed me
And left a little portion of themselves
Imprinted in my life
On my mind
Like a watermark of their
Thoughts sailing on a string
Ballooning into the blue sky
Pulled by a man on his bicycle

I am the woman you held in your arms
And whispered to
I sang to the waves
Wished upon a star
And placed my prayers
On the wistful smile
Of the harvest moon

The days are waning
And so are the years
Looking forward and back
I take a big breath
And look into the hourglass of now

In the stillness I hear your heartbeat
Its relentless rhythm
Taking me back
To the beginning of time

I am the child you once knew
The sunbeam on the afternoon wall
And the sound of the traffic
Droning everything else out

The landscape of pure ideas conjured
By the openness of space
As time widens

The country where all countries meet
Where boundaries are defeated
And love is proclaimed
Where the scent of the morning sunrise infuses the day

I am the loll of the sail in the evening dusk
That windless moment
When all seems captured
In a perfect frame

I am the picture within
Some days the picture of Dorian Gray
The exterior sheaf leaves way
To the inside feeling old
The body unworthy of the cycles of nature
And yet to breathe in the stillness
To sigh and wonder
Each year brings new gifts
The heart opens a little wider
Defying definitions I swing
Into myself
Into this life
Given and giver
Created and creator
Taught and teacher
Drawing out of the mold
The expressions, the laughter
The oohs and ahs of learning
My jewels before me
Glistening in the sunlight
I count them, polish their Inner beauty
And sometimes even wear them
Shimmering in the moonlight
The heart opening and closing
In the acceptance of breath
Transition, process
Anew