The Ocean Puffs out its chest
The further inland you go
the easier it is to neglect to remember
that it is even there.
The ocean does not forget we are there,
It sits caressing our shores,
letting us live behind our breakwater ridges,
collecting what we’ve tried to hide
from the dry land.
It still takes pride in the way
it swirls between us.
It’s still holding all of the pieces of ourselves
that we hurled past the shorebreak.
Carrying fleets of messages sailing for the lonely.
Reaching out with sea-soaked notes
to swear to strangers that
there is someone else out there
standing on some other shore
chucking similar dreams into the waves.
The ocean is pushing back
against the people’s indifference.
The ocean is a sensitive soul.
It does not like to be forgotten.
It gets easily offended by
poorly thought through good intentions.
Now it’s foaming fists beating upon
the soft sand that secure us,
Smashing up against us,
because this is the only way to remind us
just how much there is out there.
A glass surface horizon that goes on forever
until the a curve you can’t see from where you’re standing,
pulls the waves down out of sight.
It’s all so impossibly large
there is no way to get your arms around it,
no matter how much you want to hold on
and reassure it that it will never be forgotten.
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