Pacific
by A. Pseudonym
this orient tide come occident:
this roll of wreck and reckoned
eyes that fathomless are found
or made to find her keep within
the tight shut shell in soundings
deeper than the plumblined soul
these western waves gone east:
these forgone waters waking dim
pulled out to sea by moondrawn cord
and raked across the whale's back
stabbing at his afterlight like
Jacob sleeping on a stone
Love this: how you have taken your hands to the mud unafraid to hold the shape and make your own our own, too.
love the sounds in this poem and especially like the line "pulled out to sea by moondrawn cord and raked across the whales back". i see it in my minds eyes. beautiful.
Thanks!