hm. It's kind of a poem.

[aithne]

This isn't exactly what I was aiming for when I set out writing, but this is what it turned into.


crossing

"so maybe we're a bliss of another kind" -t. amos

walk on the sand packed hard with the morning's tide
the rising moon lopsided with eclipse.
pause. listen. the surf is quiet.

shiver, walk forward, the stars spin
above in their eternal arcs, till I come
to the place where the river crosses on its way
to join the salt beginning of everything--

I summon all my courage, and cross the border.

now in the place between
river and ocean
sky and sand
the worlds above, below, moving
in the gentle spaces between
one moment--and the next--

the place that is not a place, where the second hand is
eternally about to strike the next tick--

I call me to myself.

I gather the threads of pain, of hope,
weave them together and lay them in the surf
and begin to tell my story.

I make confessional to the ocean.

I speak and sing my story, give back to the powers
what they have given me, this pain and anger
and this deep love, whipping through my soul
like wind, raising the waves in its wake.

And the water answers.

The ocean constant in inconstancy hisses
dreaming about my naked feet, whispering
of passion. Speaking to me of coming back

to the true self, the soul stripped of barriers,
the hands wandering the unmarked paths
and the eyes accepting, always accepting.

The eclipse slides toward totality.
I hang suspended

sea and earth and wind
and I between worlds
helpless

and unafraid