· poetry

Pour out your heart, break open the flesh of that unseen place; let the waves flow into you, let them capture you like the sea, let them wash out the dark places, the cracks and ledges where the regrets have hardened you.

Cold and calming, ebbing with each current and brimming with life; so much mystery lies beneath the watery blanket, so much hope in its vast arms which hug the Earth, yet bitterness too. If only I could rest my head below the breakers and waves, if I could behold the life beneath the surface, I would be wrapped by the arms of the ocean and I too, would flow like the sea. I wonder, if I held my breath long enough, would God give me gills to breathe in the tide pools and deep watery orbs; through this skin could I shift, transform, transcend. Am I impermeable, or would each icy drop penetrate this skin, would it sink its teeth into my arms and claw its way inside; would these thoughts claw their way out.

If you closed your eyes, could I pull every memory from your sight and throw them to the choppy sea; could I erase the moments behind your lashes and the stories now hidden in your cells, could I break them; could I pull out their threads and unravel them.

Do you miss the sea, how she longs for you, races towards you and then pulls back; I think the sea is a woman begging for her lover.

As you slept last night, lost in blissful dreams, faraway in your mind, I saw a wolf in the forest; his eyes were a yellow haze like the moon behind fog, his coat was a quilt of colors threaded like silk, of amber and gray, and white like the foam caps that roll. He stared at me, from those yellow eyes, and asked a question; i’m not sure I understood. He waited for a moment in the dim light of the distance, and then turned, disappearing like the shadows he emerged from. It made me think of angels; how I knew you from another life, perhaps just in passing, or perhaps we were born from the same matter.

If I emerge from the shallows of the sea, I would dance, burying my feet in the solid earth.

The watery womb of the ocean gives fresh breath to all her life forms, without care to what they are, how they differ; to all existence she gives. I looked to the sky and sitting on the ledge of the cloudy wisps, a falcon with golden talons clinging to the air, tumbling through layers of mist; catching himself mid turn, he stretched open wings, gliding, weaving, hovering.

The icy tongue of the waves bites against my skin, reminding me of its flavor, pulling me back from my dreams and begging me to remember.



By Riah Raine

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