up close, when you’re intimate, the ocean is green more than blue.
I’ve leaned over, far as I could, the stone and concrete barrier wall at the cliff edge here. I’ve stepped down rough slender stairs at low tide, then walked along the narrow sand beach below. leaning forward, strangers walking by behind me here. most glance, move on. I adore. I am lost. willingly.
a few fish reflect each wave, moving more near, moving more far.
effortlessly. I am fish. I am water too.
I have no doubt. going where water goes.
yet here I am, between water and dirt. dust on my hands.
I remember standing there sometimes, confused, wondering why I was alone.
not the words, nor even thoughts. but here, sight itself becomes haiku.
am I not poem enough?
we don’t move. the ocean does.
in Japanese, haiku is the contracted form of haikai no ku ‘light verse’.