Ocean
| You are the ocean and I am the shore. Within you lies the mystery of life, the joy of creation, the seasons of the moon. You broach my outer reaches, surging slowly inland. You glide over me, swelling my separate sand grains to whole fabric. You recede, kissing me with foam-tipped wavelets, leaving shells and sea treasures in your wake. When tides are low, days are long and unforgiving. There is only stillness and silence. I ache for the cool feel of you, your onrushing echo, your salt-brine. The sun bears down, the wind picks up. Without you, I am only simple grains of sand, sun-baked and wind-tossed. Then you return to me in undulating waves filled with motion and light. All my earth gathers to embrace you, to lend you substance, to meet your plenitude with my own. Together, we become elastic and sinuous, a saturated, shimmering carpet. In this instant of utter stillness and perfect balance, before we must again separate, there is no ocean and there is no shore. |
| (excerpt from “Whitegate,” published by Liz M. Weiman © 2000) |
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