Ocean of Us

for Belinda

       Wellfleet beaches twilight low tide, strung with stones like gazing stars
       you and I and the sun, seagulls setting and rising with the moon somewhere tiding rhymes around our wonder
       wandering, picking up the scattered verses of solid Earthspun rainbows daydreaming us
       the everything-children we are, exploring this allowingness at the edges of silver waves, falling awake in cold bursts within a warm heart-held nowhere
       falling through the striated light like piano notes playing the sand beneath shallow water, entranced and eye-flickering moments washing by
as gentleness rises, praising dunes in aloe eyes, the story-over-story layers of washed mantle amazement as sand tumbles time, somersaulting slowly in downward slopes

       everything kindness, our hands held out with stones, wandering last-moment hands, starfish expressions of us, full spectrum vocabularies geologically spelled out under our toes
       sharing the birthwater urges and blood-circle orbit of inner body heartspun aliveness meeting another body’s spin in rhythms of attuned-and-separate exploring
       joining the universal rhythms of falling-rising, pulsing of light and the electricity of earth, in the immersing-all-around body of the living beach
       both of us molten through wombs of oceanic volcanoes, moving like water drawn moonwards, spiraling on Earth’s surface as we travel this galaxy-orbiting sun

       or singing with a ukelele as we sit in the sand, all shell-blown whispers and washes, the surf of us spread across laughing inner skies
       the smile of land meeting water and heartbeat of infinite softnesses that swell under our bare feet
       or the cry of shimmering pink and cerulean blue bursts in sunsets that reveal sanctuary like lungs being breathed
       believing, still, in friendship across time and our various losses and lostnesses and rememberings, like these stones both knowing and unknowing, wondering who we are, questioning us constantly

       we always arrive here, beachcombing around tiny streams in the sand, lit up from earth to eyes with forests of stone projecting their thoughts through us, and emanating from us in a hazel glow
       swaying together in this life, returning to the harmonies held within and holding notes of quartz, jasper-agates and amethyst, serpentine, granite, slate, pumice, sandstone, marble, igneous, metamorphic, and sedimentary stone, with shells of a million hues softer than concepts
       as if the beach burned through us and we burned through the beach, devouring the sun as it devours us, resurrected in a communion of elements, two poems turned inside out with the universe revealed as our true selves

       wherever those selves are or ever were – we left all these ideas on the beach among stones and driftwood, and rose like the clouds flowering on top of dunes
       we never were encapsulated in ideas, the two of us, but always again found in delight and honest emotions, in the fingertips that strum sand, the notes of us wandering affectionately across each other’s lives, always in new ways
       pondering nothing, and something, and then nothing again, always returning in bodies of light birthed in the renewing darkness
       leaving no sun unturned



(2018 Ben Ross.  All Rights Reserved.)






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