Thursday, June 23, 2016

The Awakening

Mom once told me that when I was a baby,
she used to walk with me on the seawall when I cried.
That explains the soothing hush of the surf.
A soft breeze delicately lifts a strand of hair, 
brushes it gently against my skin, 
like a lover’s touch.
The seduction of sinking my bare feet into warm sand softens me.
The cry of the gulls electrifies me,
tilts my head to the sky and  
sucks new breath into languid lungs.
Immersing myself in the waves is a baptism,
like crawling back into the cradle, reborn.
The rhythm of my heartbeat instantly synchronizes
with the cadence and swell of water.
I close my eyes, and feel my heart beating 
against the wall of my chest.
Feel it pounding like Morse code.
My ears strain to hear the notes.
My fingers search blindly for the strings of the guitar,
trying to find the right chord...

But now I am shivering in the moist, salty air.
The moon is rising but I won’t go inside.
My mind still too thick.
A lingering sadness, a dull ache, the twinge of loss.
But there’s also the hint of growing exhilaration
of new beginnings, new horizons.
a quickening of my step, a leap of faith.  
My eyes burn like beams of light melting the darkness,
infrared photographs seeking the heat more than the form.
Like braille for eager, trembling fingers,
looking for signs back to the water’s edge.

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