Bodies of Water
I love the water. The ocean. The sea. I watch it move. I hear it speak, and always yield to its power. When I can see or smell it, I pay homage sometimes making special trips just to be by its side. Being in its presence is enough. Other times I venture in. I read the ripples, drips, or waves and stand as I am allowed. Continuously recalibrating my body against the temper of the water — calm and still or grasping. When I enter its embrace, I caress its face and place on mine its wetness. I bend my knees, open my arms, lean backwards, and lay my body down. And the water holds me. Licks me. Sings me close my eyes and let go. I hover over shells, weeds, or rocks and move as I am told. Then I begin to swim on currents that carry me and seeds, dust, creatures, sea women, vessels, and swimmers from one place to another. The water bobs me up and down. Pushes and pulls me from my straight line as I swim along the seam of water kissing sky. I am but one small creature. One of many weightless arms and legs moving. Spinning. Peaking under the vast agean-blue wrap-around skirt. On my return to shore, I follow where the foliage points above the sand prints that smile beneath me. Then I stand heavy. Shedding sand and water. Salt on my lips, I am joyous.
