To All Who’ve Yet to Make It to the Ocean
from life experiences we
learn – and from a ten
der age – the need (and
/or desire) to plan for
an inevitable future.
when one gets wise,
has neither friend nor
foe, then where can
that wisdom go? it
wants so much to get
out; to be expelled.
take me, for example.
is the ocean peace? or
is it a complex wilder
ness of extreme weather
drowning? looking out
as I do at the endless,
the infinite Pacific, won
dering if we are each and
all, in actuality, connected.
humanity becomes less
specific. we are such a
horrible species. yet to
my tiny mind, evil seems
to require as much effort
as good, am I right? of
this, I’ve no idea. the
same can be said of what
I was going to tell you.
sitting here upon the
shifty sand, I watch the
sun reddening into a pur
ple that disappears, swal
lowed by the roiling waters.
I maintain my focus on this
movement, am but a
pacifist imagining the
turmoil away. but the
tension of the world
persists, poised as it
often seems in some
apocalyptic peril, the
tumult that I envision,
no, that I with clarity
see gets lost, but for
a moment, in calm:
waves that begin to
come right at me
after a while. oh,
I was going to send
an invitation, now I
remember (and how!).
but to a party or a fun
eral? the world is a
mess and all its surf
aces so out of focus.
and so I say instead,
perhaps it is better
that you tuck your
self into the firm
ament; stay tethered
to the glowing mount
ain of which you’ve
never lost sight. I rise,
and such a dizzy man,
and not a moment
too soon. before
the tide has pulled
me irreversibly
into the unknown.
