Friday, February 27, 2015

A burn


I still have pink sunburn sleeves on my arms
starting where my T-shirt stopped
from being too long under California sun
with no protection.


I rode around on a bike – a “beach cruiser” –
and walked by the ocean, on sand flecked with gold, listening to meaningful music about you and me
and an unbreachable impasse.

The ocean – it commands our awe.
Can’t go any farther West, turn the wagons back around.
All we can do is stop and stare
and worship, and kneel.

A tumult in the water –
you were here and I was there
you were there and I was here
one of us had washed ashore and one of us was out to sea.

(I am floating in darkness with jellyfish
stars up above and sharks in my midst
part of the primordial ebb and flow
back to the moving clay from whence we came.)

The ocean. The sun. The burn on my arm.
The radiation that altered my cellular structure.
You are part of me, to my deepest core.
My life began with you.

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