Susie and the Sea

You and the sea.
Perhaps that's why I have always written
and felt a soft tidal pull,
stood on a small concrete outcropping
and watched snow and wind
pinch and pluck the crests of waves
like a depraved lover,
heard the mournful bass moan
from the Marianas Trench
where all who have drown gather
blind cave fish waiting for rescue lights.

Your wanting in that moan
and in the harpy gulls.
Your distracted lips
in the gentle ripple of spent waves,
all liquid exhaustion,
then the slide back
to the source of it all,
the deepest place.

Welcoming,
welcoming,
impossibly warm,
surrender and be engulfed;
and always salt
on lips and in eyes,
what does it matter?
I will be mummified in salt,
a drop of sweat from your nose,
a tear of satisfaction
that finds it's way
to my finger.
I hold you and the ocean
for that instant
and place you on my tongue
like the host.