This morning
we saw the tide had loosed a ship,
so sand struck,sea crowned,
it seemed dwindled bones of pa**ion
spent uselessly for love.
We clambered down the winter beach
through tide wrack,sand and dried plum rose,
to the crisp cold edge
where land and waves are met
and at neap tide
we plundered the remains:
still strong spokes of rusted iron
that had bound against the workings of the hull,
deadeys,springs and woven lines
that at full water would float again
and wave like arms,
beckoning.
When we found the gla** that had shot the sun,
we thought the relentless geometry of navigation
and wondered was it years or more than years
that brought this wooden ship to sand.
What failed sk**s of s**tant,sail,
spirit and desire?
This evening
we sit on the beach at Santa Cruz
and watch the fleets of clouds
break their moorings on the mountains
and sail off south to Monterey.
Now,underneath our star,Hesperos,
please part your lips and kiss me.
I want always to be balanced with you
on that binding edge
where we hold our tidal rythms strong
against a final ache of love.