January 3, 2012 § 2 Comments
Almost close enough, your voice
Like the restless sea that touches the shore
To dwindle, looking for some perspective.
Gulls would know in their squawking ignorance
That tides always return to the sand
To soak and submerge and sanctify.
Why do i stand here, a ‘wise’ woman with net in hand
Doubting the inevitable cycle of waters
Doubting myself- if only because i must be a woman.
Unaware of my hand in front of my eyes
Unsure of the imprint being made in my mind
Unable to understand the repercussions of what is gone.
Then your voice like a bottled message rescues me
Just when i thought i was going to sink
Telling me tides, high or low, are planned, are perfect.
And i come back to life.