Saturday, June 12, 2010

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

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