Wednesday, October 1, 2014

beeswax and ocean air (or: new venue, same bad poetry)

Before I close the window at night
I put my elbows on the sill
and lean out, lean into
the salty air
the ocean breeze
so warm and so cool and comforting
like a massage on the face from God
or The gods
the invisible gods of movement
and trust
and the air is moist and full.

Constant movement always
within and without
and the more still we become
the more we see
the movement
– our part –

Then at last the day comes –
I put the beeswax in the pot
add a little water
turn the heat up and
it slowly melts and
there’s a reminiscence of
wildflowers and
wild orchards of apple and
vistas of forest and river and lake
dark green and grey and now,
I suppose,
dark red and orange
mixing with salt and eucalyptus
crisp blue sky
sand underfoot
and flowers of
every color.

At night I lean into the ocean
and see the stars and
pick one to say
goodnight upon.
Goodnight, my someone. Then,
I close the window
till the day begins.

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