The Sea, The Sea

Listen, don’t you hear the cries of invisible gulls?—Albert Camus

I.

Daughter of

The Sea

Where my brooding soul was

Born, where Time began,

You were mine, Love, before

The stars were born, before

The Sea

The Sea ...

You and I, Love, divided now

By Time, by silence tyrannous,

By wounds ... I wander, Lost,

Between the earth and sky,

My thoughts, tempestuous,

Drift like waves in a white

Fury of foam where my wild

Heart seeks refuge along

Forsaken shorelines of

The Sea

The Sea ...

II.

No one but I remembers

The bright pink roses on your

Dress that day as we walked

Hand in hand, and kisses fell,

One by one, like the glimmering

Waves amid white fury

Of foam where now I wander,

Lost, between the silence and

Pulsating murmur of waves—

And in the Eternity of a kiss,

And the bright song of

The Sea

The Sea ...

My heart seeks Living Waters

To make the flowers rise,

And bloom again. You and I,

Love, our kisses fell, one by one,

Wave by wave, as now my

Sadness rises, falls, wave by

Wave, as our kisses fell, and

In the breath-like rise and fall

Of waves, a beating heart

The Sea

The Sea ...

III.

Our kisses fell, Love, wave by

Wave, but now I only hear your

Voice, the wet cry of a sea-bird,

Piercing the afternoon air over

Sun-glistening waters, above

The waves, falling one by one,

As our kisses fell, your music rising

From the whispering surf, a sad

Lullaby, the melancholy song of

The Sea

The Sea ...

IV.

Wave by wave, in the sad song of

The Sea

The Sea ...

I hear your Voice—shape of

My sorrow, mirror of my Soul—

Form Immense, of salt and fire,

Of blood, pulsating and bitter,

Tasting of tears. I wander, Lost,

Along forsaken shorelines beneath

A darkening sky, fading sunlight

Casting shadows over silent depths.

The Sea

The Sea ...

The shape, Immense,

Of my brooding Love,

Dying wave by wave—

A sad and lonely Voice

The Sea ...

--for Neruda

Free, Little Bird

My lady sweet, arise:

Arise, arise!—Shakespeare

I’m setting you free, little bird

To fly, to fly

To the heavens, to the heavens

Free, little bird

To fly, to fly

On swift wings, on swift wings

Free, little bird

To fly, to fly

As love flies, as love flies

Free, little bird

To fly, to fly!

Her Sorrow is Deep

A fathomless and boundless deep,

There we wander, there we weep.

—Wm. Blake

Her sorrow

Is

As deep,

As dark,

As the

Ocean.

The fathomless

Bottom

Of her soul

Swarms

With

Alien life—

Dark and ancient

Tides,

Glass-eyed phantoms,

Pale as moons—

Spectral whispers

Of the dead.

There, a Garden

We planted, there, a garden fair

Of lavendar and rose;

And through so many seasons

We watched it bloom and grow.

We planted, there, a garden

One Sunday afternoon,

And watched it grow so fruitful --

A blessing and a boon.

We planted, there, a garden,

Watched it growing like a child;

It grew lush and overflowing --

Bright-colored, fragrant, wild.

We planted, there, a garden

Of orchids and jasmine,

And watched it in its seasons

Bloom and die, and bloom again.

We planted, there, a garden;

Its' sweetness drew the birds and bees;

We listened to the hymns of life

In shade beneath the Redwood trees.

We planted, there, a garden

To last through all the years;

But when the time for dying came

We watered it with tears.

So now our time has ended,

But still that garden grows.

We planted, there, a garden fair

Of lavendar and rose.

One Day My Sweetheart

One day my sweetheart

Sat high on a wall.

The next day my sweetheart

Had a great fall.

And all of her doctors

And all of her friends

Couldn't put my poor sweetheart

Back together again.

Eyes of Love

O me, what eyes hath Love put in my head,

Which have no correspondence with true sight!

—Shakespeare

At first the eyes of love are blind. Everyone knows the lover sees only what they want to

See, fitting the mask of the ideal tightly over the face of the Beloved, as if they are in fact the

One True Love. But all lovers are merely human as we are, and one day the mask begins to

Slip. And the face in the mirror looks different than we expected, not like we imagine the

One True Love. (More like we are) And no longer is it possible to cloak human imperfection

With denial. Thus, begins the greater alchemy of love: transmuting baser substance into gold.

The Look

She has the look that men admire.

Her form, the shape of their desire.

(If only she wasn't such a liar!)

She has the look that men admire.

She has a look of such allure.

My doom, of that I can be sure.

(If only her heart were pure!)

She has a look of such allure.

She has the look that men adore.

One glance and they want more.

(If only she wasn't such a whore!)

She has the look that men adore.