April 9, 2015

Magnitude of Depth

It's dark
save for the light of the moon.
And a batch of stars.

You are alone.
It's nearly midnight
you are in the middle
of the ocean.

Two birds- chirping. dancing. playing
in the cool milky light.
The sea a mirror of constellations and melted silver.

You think about a camera and preserving this moment.
Your hat tight on your head.
Your finger tips curled into tender fists.
Your mind dripping from your eyes. Out. Into the melting sky.

Where did these birds come from?
Boasting of their freedom. Exalting in life. Rubbing your face in it.

There are no cameras,
but some of these words, like "You are alone," begin to imprint on your psyche.
You hope you will remember them.
Does life happen alone in your mind?
The moon lower now.

It's hard to tell the magnitude of depth when the ocean reflects the sky.
So much above. So much below.
And you here with those birds and that moon and this shimmering.

You breathe deep. Your nose red and cold. Alive. Salt in the air. On your lips.
You are made of this. You are everywhere.
In the darkness and the light.
The heavy sickle moon on the horizon, yawns and disappears.

There will be no photographs, unless you count these words,
this memory,
fading as soon as it was hatched.
Never to be as bright as when it began.

Somewhere in the darkness,
you can still hear the birds,
they are nowhere.

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