Oceana

7.3.06

My ocean crashes up against

rocky cliffs

and slides slowly down sandy shores.

It runs hot and cold and warm,

currents circulating the planet

in a flamenco floreo.

Waves surge and crest, ebb and flow

wrinkling like a rug kicked up on the floor

then smoothing out, calm as a baby's skin.

At night plankton light up the surface

with a fluroescent sheet

while the moon rocks slowly in reflection

on its liquid bed.

The sun wakes, laying a rosy blanket

on my watery surface, then gathers it

high in the sky as it arcs around the world.

My wet tendrils reach into hidden coves,

coaching a sea urchin loose here,

a wedge of salty seaweed there

ever changing shape.

I am host to ships and rowboats,

flotsam and jetsam,

stray beach balls and topsy turvy buoys.

The rain replenishes me,

hurricanes suck me up in their voracious lips

then spit me out over land masses.

I hug the continents,

lick ice flows,

receive rivers' deltas

like a thirsty lover

and creep, unkown, into

coastal inlets.

Somewhere a cave

knows my name

and in its darkness,

its superb silence,

awaits my arrival

and ever pending departure.