Where do I begin?
On this windy night by the shore,
the restless seas insist themselves upon the senses:
the sharpness of the salt on the air
and of the washed-up seaweed that gave up, exhausted, on the sands around me,
the silver fear that dwells at the back of my mouth in awe of the dark raw power,
the noisy conversations of the waves
the blue-black waters topped with whitecaps nearly fluorescent in the moonlight,
and to have this before your feet with the playful stars staring from above
in their childish lack of inhibition
they flit through the entire spectrum, all while gaping open-mouthed
as I stand still on that lonely beach.
How can I describe, within the confines of words, the affirmation of life
That you, Ocean-Mother, offer to me,
the justification of the breath that swells in my chest
and of the beating of my jaded heart?
I've tried to wade through cliches
and into fresh depths,
but I get tangled, and my steps are weighed down in the sands of convention.
And for that I apologize.
I hope my love is sufficient.