We Who Are Standing
We who are standing feel the water drift through,
and above our ankles in the cleansing lavatory of the sea.
There is an assortment of skulls that rattle
around our feet, but they do not rattle when we walk,
so we say nothing, only feel,
only wish the skeletons a peaceful surrender.
We surrender also, not when the time is right,
not even by our own intentions, but as surprised children.
We who are standing feel the full stroke of the sun
flow with ribs of air into morning.
It is beautiful, the way the ocean pretends to be sleeping.
It is beautiful when the ocean flings a storm or pouts
in a muffled roar of waves that crash the rocks.
She is searching for the turtle eggs that belong to her.
She is ridding herself of the barges that have stayed
too long at sea, gutting themselves at her expense.
But for now, we are standing and transcending
foam fingers and shifting sand.
enmeshed in intersections and intricate designs
We are busy in the vivid sunburst and her change of hues.
She flings the fishes high moment by moment.
They leap in the sunlight of naked blue.