The Sea Still Cries

Listen, hear, I am but a gull whose feathers

raise against offshore winds, but the sea,

the sea sent me with words for you.

I waited by the shore break, passed

many days, tides, and angry rain, for the sea

spoke, called forth the sun. As I rode

his rolling surf, he sung of his love for you,

the furious storms that frightened you away.

He knew you trembled in your sleep, dreamt

of being swept away under his dark waves.

He quieted, and waited for your sun to return.

“Gull,” he cried, “She will come back. Tell her

not to go. Look upon my gentle calm.”

And I was part of the sea, and believed.

You sat with the sea all that day, felt, heard,

listened his song of calm, until the clouds

pulled across the sun, though he fought them,

they were angry, and dark.  The sea tried,

and tried to hold his calm but the dark

clouds and wind were joined, and the waves

swelled, and louder, crashed, higher and soon,

you were trembling again, and left. I was sorry.

And the sea still cries for you.

 

 

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These Tears Belong to You

I never expected winter to carry in a friend,

one who said, “I want to know your mind,”

who listened when I spoke softly,

and heard the colors, too. I was cold,

and you showed me warm, built me

a safe place to release – my alone,

my how it feels to be chased by death,

my real.  You said, “I get you.”

And you did.  Did you get the pieces

you scattered behind when you left?

 

These tears belong to you.

Everything Burns

What am I doing? Standing here 

in the driest, cracked land that hasn't felt 

water in months.  I breathe in red dust and choke 

it out, blink it from my eyes in reddish tears. 

Everything snaps when you walk on it, 

including me, and I throw a match just to hear 

the crackling, to feel the burn of every smoky 

breath that seers my throat, to taste the soot 

of angry regret.  Everything burns. 

 everything