Tide

Like the easternmost stone at the shore

I lean into the dawn

letting the white foam of the waves

crash against me where I lie

in the white tub of bubbles and bath salts

imagining the wind and the swell

with my eyes shut

and the cat sitting awkwardly on the mat

waiting for breakfast.

Every morning

I am ready to run out of the house

to plunge into the day 

where the pools of the morning 

are set in the rocks and filled

with all kinds of life

like a child I want to lie with my cheek

on the warm stone and stare

at what the tide has left. 

What I’m longing for is the wind

the way it surges through the sky

driving the clouds 

the way it seems to reach to me 

in recognition like a half-forgotten language

running its swift hands through my hair

brushing against my face

twining with the sun to warm me 

and the rocks and the early birdsong

hugging me in its arms and 

spinning round and round 

with delight.

If you are looking for me

you will find me nested

in the heart of the world

if you are looking for me

look to the dawn 

where the rocks fall towards the water

I will be looking

for you.

Photo courtesy of Andrew F. March, Instagram @tihtokolok