sea dream studio

after the Christmas pagent

I require no wonders beyond the sea
and Eridanus. The bright embellishment
of sons and daughters renders me winged,
sustained. I breathe a song of gratitude,
a quiet carol of comets and coquinas.

I have made my peace with this babe’s
briny tear, this tilted barn,
this nova’s beam. In these I hear
the chorus of man, the hunger
for hope, ever hinged on salt and light.

For me, it is enough to cup a wet star
in the palm my hand, to feel water
rush and ebb like time. I have tilted
the faces of my children upward, planted their feet
in spindrift. They will find their own miracles.