“Sea waters lapping, tidally, at every inch of coast,
Like fingers mapping every crevasse, rock and crook.
That done the waves, white capped, crested, like tendrils,
Unfolding, rear, roll in, smash and climb up the vertical of cliffs,
Stretching to examine the upper nooks – and collapse in dismay,
Despair – failing to find what she looks for: A place to pour in.
She’s searching for the thing to fill her depths – her inner ocean.
She, frustrated, thunders and storms at the fruitless quest.
She can only see a part of the land – that which borders her,
She pushes the rocks back, they boom for her,
She tosses them aside, useless, love lacking,
The stone retreats before her – she will not cease the search.
Then she found it – a stone of the north, a hard rock,
Unyielding, to her ruthless pressure to find.
A place to lay her beach,
She pours out the sands of her love.
The sacred sands held in her deep.
But it seems her gift of ground quartz, will not stick,
It stays for a while, sometimes – the rock holds it tight –
Then it lets it shift, slip away, sudden, even squeezing it out.
The sea churns it up again and again. She pours continually,
The rock won’t shrink, it halts her, but doesn’t hold her.
– Her sands rejected.
But what could that rock see of her depths!
Sitting there immobile. He will not send out,
To investigate, the animals of all places,
– His eyes and ears They lounge, unresponding,
Then wake, launch towards her, then falter.
Perhaps feared of her stormy surface.
All he could see – that and her brushed off sands.
And what of those things of beauty hidden in the deep,
Protected by the water wall – wasted,
Untouched, unexplored, unappreciated.
He must fear her depths, to look,
Afraid he will lose his grip on the bedrock,
And be swallowed, crumble.
But must dare to see deeper.
Yet her vigorous, passionate level,
All he sees, perhaps her sands loosed too fast,
Too exposed. He fears more to find no depth,
But the power of her waters come from deep,
As a cork would rise – love.
Ought she to find another shore?”