Pangaea

28thAug. × ’09

My body was yours
once. I felt so little
your hands
drove my fathers stick shift,
could move me swift, one armed
and trying to champion
the art of frozen vegetables
you too, young
with mystery,
attempting authority
like jumping waves.

The ocean roars
of unknown,
sand pipers
scurrying its edge
crab crabbing
the border or safety.

What else is there of today
but intention?

If only we had wings
for skirmishes
with what could be,
if only there were no need
for a plan.

For the love of crabs
we cannot see
the depths of ocean
phytoplankton to whale
complete
(the way we played
in the shower
head to drain).

The piper grasps
that waves do not repeat—
I am just coming to understand this now
I am happy
but wonder
if

seagulls leaves no footprints in the sand.

That we were once
might not have been
but for knowing
you too must think of me
when you notice the ocean

or that the world
is connected.

This entry was posted in Poems, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Post a comment or leave a trackback: Trackback URL.

One Comment

  1. --- don mclagan
    Posted September 2, 2009 at 6:16 am | Permalink

    Water – formless, formative, slipping through your fingers, like images of dad. — don

Post a Comment

Your email is never published nor shared. Required fields are marked *

*
*