Conviction

this morning I rose quietly,

achedly,

knowing what I had to do.

the tide was low

and I had to see what I could see.

the sleeping rock,

normally covered

by lush and lapping waters

was exposed,

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.

perhaps,

this is when they rest.

in the breaking of the day

above the busy waters of their lives.

how can something so primitive

and essential

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?

so languidly?

I am broken,

by the sound of water bubbling,

conversing,

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.

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