海水浴 sea bathing
what nest is this for your eyes. ears too, they settle here. fingers.
water poem in a sequence of breaths
sand then water. cold. some of it blue. some green. sometimes white.
when you’re close. close enough. a starfish, maybe orange. or anomie
eager to tug. fingertips. curves in water. like wheels are. a dead shark,
washed ashore. he touched it then. skin like barbs. you can feel.
one way right. the other wrong.
rocks, yes, great nurseries of them. rusting rails on a concrete pier.
mothers and young ones. sheltered on the beach. but still, blue
feet with only five minutes wade. then wait. then night.
Chinese lanterns elaborate. then someone says. remember this.
touches your shoulder, saying, glad you’re here. twenty, thirty years.
much fits inside my memory. saltwater too.
sometimes a sound will be refracted or reflected and arrive in
unanticipated places. unexpectedly. your ears might be both
surprised and pleased.
although I suppose ocean rhythm won’t travel seven hundred
miles, no matter what. except, they do. as much as we believe
that’s really the voice of our friend over a long distance phone.
not just random bits well organized.
how often can you look with new borne eyes?
within one breath everything trusted, made right again.
in Japanese shinrin-yoku means forest bathing. this then is my own version, taking residence with the sea, the changing nature of living with this body here. how we reflect each other. how we are nurtured here. studies have shown such exposure brings benefit both emotionally and physically. even to see a film or pictures produce some positive result.
take your time.
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MBA webcam views of Monterey Bay used with permission.
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round about May, sea lion mothers bring their young up on the beach.
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