The sea

[torquill]

Drifting
in the depths of sleep
I saw him.

He stood,
the rock taking shape beneath his feet.

A touch of humor in his eyes,
dark like the water
deep and clear
quiet.

The surf boomed behind him.

He turned to meet the rushing wall,
arms before him,
hands spread in embrace.

As in dreams, I could see everything:
The wave enfolded him,
slammed into the rock,
yet he stood unmoved
holding the wave in his hands.
Fish and small crabs and seaweed and snails
rushed past him
through him
as if he were no more than a ghost.

One hand snapped shut.

The torrent moved on
the roar faded into silence
the water slithered away
the mist settled.

He stood,
eyes closed tight as his fist.
Not a drop lingered in his hair.

He turned to look at me,
his eyes full of the sea.
Slowly his fingers opened.

It was as large as the whole world,
its luster that of the full moon,
snatched from its oyster in a moment of tempest.

I met his eyes and he smiled.


I woke suddenly
in the dark.

Eyes full of sand,
rubbery weed in my hair.

And everywhere the smell of the sea.