Poems from the sea

Life Cycles

He is 8 and hot rods in a dinghy.

From the stern,

his dad watches the gray launch curl figure eights

and tilt, and gradually slow;

as a mind swept up in the feel of each curve

searches the sea life below.

In these continuous, motoring circles

a boy’s eye finds caves, starfish to pluck, fish to hook. 

Discovery is his lure that leads him on the way

a fox can urge a hound to run distances that it doesn’t even realize it is traveling.

He is solitary, the driver, and crew. 

A fuel tank, propeller, and engine are ghosts in this world.  

Then his dad calls, “Dinner!”….

The words veer across his loop.

Head up now, he turns towards a boat

not too far away where  

a man with a red hat peers over its rails.

The man is smiling and laundry hangs on lines.

He rounds up and bee-lines back at full speed blast.

I have been in those loops.

Mine were more in sand and tunnels,

troops, chassis, plastic things.

My son’s are in watery colors, breeze,

a cut’s sting from salt, and

cheeks that will glow at dinner tonight.

June 12, 2010 – San Marcos Island