My Ocean

I enjoy talking with my Ocean.

I say hello; tell her she’s beautiful.

She responds or doesn’t

But we coalesce.

Gulls fly in circles or glide overhead –

maybe they are talking to the ocean;

maybe they are whispering to me.

Plovers trace squiggles in the sand

near my feet.

Scurrying towards the waves and back,

allowing me to approach but only so close,

waiting until the last moment to withdraw,

much like Ocean’s waves on the sand.

I like to pretend my breath is the Ocean.

A long, slow inhale

is an outstretched wave on the beach,

returning to sea, returning to body

Breathing out is Ocean’s exhale

Releasing her water

to the land.

My Ocean has many moods.

Sometimes, she is placid and playful,

soothing to all who are near.

I say, “thank you” when she wets my feet

with a foamy touch

even if I am wearing boots.

I say, “thank you” often

when walking with my Ocean.

Sometimes, it feels she is there just for me

and each curling, cresting wave is a thought

from her to give my attention –

but I have to be present to hear.

Waves unfolding onto the beach

feel like arms opening to me.

I say, “thank you”, again.

Once in awhile, my Ocean is angry and violent.

Her furious agitation incites anger in me.

It reminds me how this world disrespects her,

defiles her, and even takes her for granted.

My race is stuffing her with sewerage, oil, garbage, and poison.

I promise Ocean that I will do my best

to protect her. It is a contract.

Still, this great Ocean takes from me

what I don’t need.

An exhale of negative energy

is raked under the curl of a wave

absorbed by the froth and saline

and disintegrates before the wave

charges onto the shore

only to be drawn back

to the fathomless depth.

Metamorphosed, perhaps

or just simply gone.

This Ocean has taken countless

earthly beings in storms,

possibly in anger, maybe in mercy –

I don’t know.

If she wanted me, I’d accept!

I imagine my soul-spirit

stretching across the earth

boundless and contained

within her infinite blue.