Invitation To Move On
I am small in the sea, pushed around
by waves that care not for any grain of sand
or stuff that floats in old men’s heads.
Arms held wide and high, that reach and cling
like a child to a parent when things get rough,
when routines fail and muscles waste.
I hesitate, recoil, cower; skin so thin
these cold water blades could spill these guts
for waiting gulls and wash away this name.
I am caught like the sun, falling
and hoping to rise again, the horizon watched
from a base of arched feet, soft soles and toes
exposed to the hidden sharpness of shadows.
And though these whispered sea breezes,
with caresses would show the way,
for that bastard time waits not for me,
until I learn to surrender, immerse this body,
allow these legs to float and lay back this head,
could I ever take in the whole of the sky?
Picture credit: Musat (wikicommons)