ocean close

I keep to the broadstrokes.
The outline of the map now places me parallel to the Atlantic,
That mutable palate of blue gray green that connects my here to there.
By now my youth, my country, my rough chanel – my Europe.
I see that tide every day
Witness sky meeting sea on the horizon – a lover’s kiss.
Such is their correspondence; communicating vessels.
How the moond draws, sucks at the sea.
I watch the tide as it rises, recedes
Take in the salt brine that says this was.
It long predates me. I am a mere witnes to this.

You, you see how I wax, how I wane.
My sea-change eyes, ictal lens, I take it all in.
For this I have a house on a slope
One half block from my Atlantic. This I now call Home.
I need this just in case… me, never land-locked.
That’s me – alone in my skiff. You, you toe the line; shine bright beacon.
You do this because you know me.
You do this because you love me.
You do this because you intuit.
You do this because without I falter and I fail.
Only by my sea do I thrive.
This well-appointed house, this turret, this room of my own
I swim South to your sandy shore.
I am practicing the arc of my dive.