ceaseless oceans 3

I wake late in the still house.

Birdsong drips over the roof as

Ice melts in the cold sun.

The tree I once climbed as a child

Still stands, solitary and with arms

Spread wide. There is another,

Of a kind, I have never noticed,

Protruding from the thicket behind it

In the back part of the house where I have not

Stepped since my memory began.

What if this tree has grown just now

To grant me access to the silent

World of the dead, where mute birds

And dreams build their nests?

Last night, we stood by the ocean together.

All about seagulls cut the sky

And a wind skipped from the lighthouse

To the bridge. You were quiet,

Looking out with narrow eyes

As if you could see all the way to the other side.

I looked at you and you blurred

And I heard the water tapping at my feet,

But I did not want to go.

Lights started up on the waves

First one, then two, then a hundred,

What wonder, whether stars or boats or fire,

But nothing compared to your hand

On my shoulder, your short fingers

Pressing your weight on me

As you turned and mouthed something

That the wind took away

So all I heard was the laughing of the ocean

And then I was alone.