The ebb and flow pulls on my limbs
Am I the moon or the sea?
Is the longing that lives here even mine?
Or are you reaching for me from inside my own body?
Who are you?
Are you the wind ever hungry and seeking?
Or a hollow cave awaiting high tide?
What shape is my Lover longing to take?
What is rest?
Will I ever know her as roots know water?
How much longer is my heart to roam in exile?
What is knowing?
Where is land?
Even as I wear in this sack of skin
And find it as I do, more difficult to call her beautiful
I find it easier to call her “home”
Not the one that haunts me down quiet streets
But the one that holds me at night as the waves rock me to sleep
Gratefully I trace the weathered wood of this little boat
That hold me safe and true
No matter which way the tides may turn
Gently I tug the ropes
Slowly unfurl these sails
Solid, unmoving ground is a distant memory
At best
Grace flows under me
Cradling my being in her swaying hands
Blowing through me as though I’m not even here
I may just evaporate into the sunlight
Become the mist that hugs the waves sweetly
Or maybe one day these feet will step into the sand
And I’ll find that I was here all along
In some form I couldn’t recognize
One that’s more weighty
Than anything made of matter
Maybe I’m the thing that chisels the air
And parts the waters
And while I wait for knowing
I’ll fold myself softly
Into the curves of the sea
The Eye of the Needle 