returning to shore

Bury me in the water
off the coast of my favorite beach
Spread my ashes
Let me float
Carried on the the swells
I'll swim back to shore
I'll find the new life
I was always hoping for

Innerwaves

Waves are cycling back and forth
on the shores of my mind
Thoughts crash on the sand
and recede back into the ocean
only to return again in new forms
How long can these thoughts last
Can it be that it could last a lifetime
I close my eyes and listen
Waves coming in and out
from a hidden beach

Walk the Waves

First light and there is
no one around
Alone in silence
I walk down the hill
Sloping towards the beach
Waves call louder with each step
Sand gives and shifts below my feet
Water foams and licks the shore
At last the touch of cold water
soaks my feet and electrifies
my body into full alertness
I press forward into the
water as I sink deeper
into the salty depths
as my clothes cling
to me and my hair
grows wet I bob
up for a breath
inhale deeply
submerge
see the
land
bel
ow

tied

to return from nothingness

night after night

this is our condition

morning daze

bright shining sun or

clouded over continents of gray

ever present wind coming in from the sea

water cannot stay still

continually crashes upon the shore

mind and body

together for as long

as the night holds the day

Brotherhood of the Black Moon

He cruised north on Vista Del Mar with the Pacific
flanking his left side. Wind tousled his hair. The music
was off. All he could hear was the waves on the beach
and the tires over the asphalt.

As he neared his destination an airplane flew overhead
from the nearby airport. Briefly, he looked over and saw
its form buried in the dark skies. He slowed and pulled
over as he came to a stop.

In rapid succession, the headlights and engine were killed.
A car sped past. He could feel it's velocity through the
sudden shudder of the car. The lights of oncoming traffic
blinked into the darkness and barreled close and away.

There was no reason for him to be there this late. He didn't
want to be home. There was nothing in his room and at
least here he could listen to the waves and let his mind
forget about itself for a few moments.

His phone buzzed and the screen lit up. It was a text.
"At the Black Moon having a drink. Drop by."
He wrote, "Sure. Be there in 15." He turned the key
in the ignition only enough to turn on the stereo.

A loud cymbal crash followed by rumbling toms
and the clattering of percussion beating through the
speakers. From the first note he knew it was "A Night In
Tunisia" by Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers.

He turned the key and the engine awoke. There were
no cars in either direction. A quick u-turn over the
solid double yellow lines and he was headed south
towards the Black Moon.

He needed the company. He needed the drink.
What a day. What a week. Wayne Shorter's sax
cut through the wind as the two sounds intermingled
to create a new voice.

What kind of night would it become? It didn't matter.
How could it? Eventually he lost track of the waves,
the road, as though nothing but he and that song existed.
His company was anticipated. He hurtled forward

until the mild suburban facade of the area showed
it's face again, and when it did, how he longed to rip
the skin from it. At last, the Black Moon came into
view. There was nothing to be won or lost.

We can't predict the strength 
of the waves but we can always 
be assured they are coming. 

morning tides

recurring thoughts

                              waves upon sand

salinity rendering water unfit for drinking

vast expanse of tidal blue

                                         a canvas for 

imagination

this morning 

I cannot separate my thoughts

from water

                  what tide is welling within

when will it strike

the shore

the moon silently exerting herself

Elemental Kisses

If I were the wind
You would be the sea
Our kisses
Would make the waves
Lapping the shore
And the world 
Would know
How much
I love you.

The Push of Waves

Enough flesh had decayed from the head
that by the time I came across it at the beach
I could see the skull of the dead seal.

Patches of skin were gone but it largely
remained whole. I walked up to it,
curious to see such a creature up close.

I felt no sadness as I stood before it,
merely a sense of certainty at what befalls
all living things in time.

The waves rushed in and pushed the body
further up on the sand. It rolled over
and came to rest further from the water.

Wind bit my face as I pulled the hood
of my sweater over my head.
The tide inched closer by the moment.

It would not rest until it drowned my feet
or pushed me further from its touch.
In the end the ocean got what it wanted.

Thanks

The dining room table is cluttered
with too many things
that shouldn't be there but are.
I sit between my Mother
and Father
as we eat a meal
traditional in the small
rural Mexican town
that they are from,
the same town I spent
three weeks in
earlier this year
in the hopes of finding
answers to questions
I didn't know I had.
We didn't need to give praise
to God, or country
as we sat there.
We ate together
while they commented
on a tv show on some Spanish
language channel
about the cuisine of
the different Mexican states.
My Mom said
she'd love to visit Guerrero
but my Father said
things are bad there because
of all the cartel violence.
She agreed.
My baby brother played
in the background,
he ate something earlier
because he hasn't
developed a taste
for this food.
We ate our meal in peace.
I told my Dad we should go
down to the beach
where I work
so I could show them
where it is I spend most
of my week.
I suggested this
mainly because I know
that the time I suggested
will be around sunset.
The sun will be beautiful
as it dyes the sky
colors that seem unbelievable
but are. The waves
will be steady
and there will be a chill.
I want to be there
with them
to take a moment in
and remember
that despite change
and hardship
we've remained a family
all along.

Those Passing

Waves wash over my heart.

It trembles.

I shudder

as the ocean moves

within my chest.

i was not alone

as I sat beneathe blues waves

fish grazing my skin

underwater

Leaves rustled and did their best 
impression of ocean waves.

I closed my eyes
and couldn't tell the difference. 

Divination

Speak like the Ocean,
in tomes of foam 
gathering on the shore.

Words are bubbles bursting
as air becomes meaning
and language is rewritten.

The pier marks a permanent
page, a line tattooed 
inside your pale arm.

Divine meaning, read 
the signs. Lines criss 
cross your palm.

Speak with your hands.
What have they to say
of what is yet to be?