this place. these shimmers of light. these sounds. this air. this salt. this place. this magic.
in the days we are there, taking it all in. i am reminded – once again – of owning it all – in the days of my growing – in the days when anything felt possible and nothing was necessary.
in the days we are there, reconnecting to plank under my feet, waterfront air in my hair, soft ink falling on the dock, clanking masts.
in the days we are there, the pride of where-i’m-from returning, the tethers of heart, sand in my shoes, salty waves at my horizon.
in the days we are there, revisiting, reclaiming, restoring, recognizing the waters of before and after and – then – in the same way the waves of the inlet and the sound meet, allowing it all to mesh into one.
in the days we are there, standing in the sun, standing in the dark. it is night and it is day. and this is my town and i am wrapped in it.
in the days we are there, i become the wake – following all that has come before, choosing to ride the triangle of waves behind the rest of life. and i discover – it’s all one.
and then.
i am shimmering too.
***
night dock (jan 12, 1977)
clanking of metal-rigged sails / politely interrupt the still evening. /
the water below is soft, shadowed chasms away, yet close and quiet.
orange and pink hues fade from the night / and are enraptured by the hushed harbor.
faint strums of a guitar revolve in the mind / and in the silence of dark.
white starry sky fills the air.
men ready a boat and set sail.
the waters part to let them go.
the wake follows, alone.
*****
read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY
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