and the seagulls’ squabbles
I’ll never hear whale song on the open ocean.
The end of this jetty is the closest I’ll go to mid sea.
You can have your adventures in a tiny boat
on the surface of that great mass
alone with albatross and storms.
The exhilaration of surviving there
is not for me. I like my feet on land.
Still, there is something in the deep,
the dark forever, in the immense silence
of the sea, that pulls one.
As if one’s body belongs there,
came from there, wants back.
If ever I need to suicide …
But no, the voices of children are behind me
on the land, and all the ones I love,
and honey eaters with their feathered tongues,
and dragonflies and daisies.
Not for me the slippery world of salt water,
even on a moonlit night with whale song.
as if after a voyage
the meeting of bare feet