Oyster

I have done my clinging
to the wild rocks
of the Atlantic,

made my shell
to withstand fierce tides,
the strong stuff of bone.

Love is a riddle
with the answer inside.
I am young and ancient,

salt and cell,
I offer you a taste
of what is in me,

current and swell,
morsel of an understanding
excites and terrifies,

you cannot deny.
It takes courage
to hold something so delicate.

I have no pearl,
though there are secrets here
within each fold

and ripple.
Open your lips
to the living ocean,

swallow me
until there is nothing
left between us, and cast my shell

into the never ending sea
where everything
and everything began.

Island

i.
In the rainforest,
life and death
at the same time,
in various stages of
green to brown
and in between.

ii.
What is the gravity
of the white moon
on the human body?

iii.
Barefooting along
the forest path,
she describes
the information
that she gathers
through her feet.

iv.
We are water
and so
is the sea,
salty and
transient,
with false edges.

v.
Night music fills
the shadow places
of the half moon.

vi.
You pull a human skull
from the grotto. The spinal hole,
foramen magnum,
lets in the idea of sunlight
for the first time
in a century or more.

vii.
Three generations tell stories
of the things they have seen
so far. They pass the bread.
They pass the wine. Three
generations listen. They pass
the salt. They pass the water.

El Sueño

In the hours between
the rooster and the dog,
where the round rock

balances impossibly,
the Mexican Buddha
watches the horizon,

unwavering in the shadow
of the white breasted
frigate.  Still-winged

raven etches black
circles on the salty mist
and is also tattooed

across the back
of the Buddha. 
Heron bones swivel

pale feathers and foam
along surf’s edge calling
silently, burn bright

and return to the sea.

Sea Change

There is something
bubbling, brewing,

calling blue beneath
the surface,

aching,
stirring.

You are listening
and  ignoring,

ocean’s eager
swells unnerving.

Riptides pulling,
unforgiving.

Paddle fast
against the surging,

or gaze hard at
what is

churning.
If only you could

quench the wondering,
satisfy the tugging song.

Surrender to depths’
endless calling,

you may find
silence

in the dawn.