this morning I rose quietly,
knowing what I had to do.
the tide was low
and I had to see what I could see.
the sleeping rock,
by lush and lapping waters
naked and approachable for me.
with nothing between us,
I stepped my bare feet onto the smooth cold sand,
my eyes eagerly grasping
at what lay before me:
dark, holy rocks
stitched with bright green sea hair,
families of clam shells clustered together
and the single eyes of anemones closed tightly,
gooey, flaccid blue green life.
this is when they rest.
in the breaking of the day
above the busy waters of their lives.
how can something so primitive
be so shocking and
alien to my supposedly evolved self?
my eyes find the bodies of a few
starfish wedged into this amphibian craft.
they are muted and fat,
orange and red flesh
folded into the crevices before me.
they cling so tightly and assuredly
to what they believe in.
I wonder if I do the same?
and could I ever do it so beautifully?
I am broken,
by the sound of water bubbling,
leaking up and out of the holes it has found.
earth is simply breathing,
refreshing her gills
on this grey august morning in the fog.