stealing her white light from the Sun,
lighting its cool, pale fire to hearts
on Earth and attracting emotions like waves
breaking at our feet and distant shores.
This bewitched light that shows your nakedness.
[Allusions here to Shakespeare’s Timon of Athens:
“The sun ’s a thief, and with his great attraction / Robs the vast sea; the moon ’s an arrant thief / And her pale fire she snatches from the sun…”]
to the land for the vast sea.
These days, people interest me not much.
The waves, always different, always the same.
The crashing drowns laughing voices behind me.
Feeling the tidal pull of deep water.
The sun heats the brain and eyes
so that this vertical (not horizontal normal)
view spins Copernican and slightly air drunk,
until Buddha appears, cloudlike but still solid.
Feel the sand. Hear the waves. Breathe.
Ocean phenomenon, after thousands of years, unexplained.
Large, spontaneous, out at sea, once mythical.
That thing that comes at you suddenly
and overwhelms, without warning, without apparent cause.
Gasping for air, you fight to surface.
Writing the Day 