Wednesday, January 1, 2020

Standing Firm

The misery of erosion isn't total.
The supports stand firm.
The sea feels cool and affirming and rich with life and hope.
Time doesn't hurt so much in its ebb and flow.
It doesn't try to march so trenchantly in these waters.
And life doesn't plan and scheme and flit about within their foamy rush.
That's our doing. Not its.

It doesn't have to be that way.
But it is.
People concern themselves with living only when they are dying.
Only when they can see their ends.
Only when the decay they could have taken care of long ago
becomes unassailable, and the supports collapse.
It's no one's fault but their own.

I yearn to stretch over the sea,
to exult as my supports are washed clean,
to feel the moments and the sway of the tides
and the dynamic depths.
The mysterious blue reflects here, soaks in like a dark cloud there,
the horizon sharp, then indistinct with incoming weather.

I've won the war.
The erosion isn't total.
The supports are in great shape.
I'm not so miserable now.

Ocean Beach Pier, San Diego, California