Maris Pacifici

an ode to my ocean

Warm desert gusts 
wash over 
cold pacific slipstream;
movement mirrored
by wind and water.
  
Currents cross, mingle, 
tangle weeds 
pulled 
from distant seas.

Sun settles,
unreeling 
legs of light
on unbroken canvas,
holding color 
like a lover
in Earth’s pooled palette.

Gleams ride
the rise and swell 
of mountains peaked 
in frothy points,

that pitch 
into curves,
slides and sinks—
cradled and swayed
in half seconds of stillness
on rippled valley floors.

Bolts of sea spray 
strike 
and shatter, 
like dreams forgotten 
in the crash 
and churn
of a wake. 

Roaring, ever
rushing forward, 
eager arrivals 
spend themselves,
withering until 
away again.

Receding 
silent as silhouetted sail, 
unbound and full,
adrift. 

Cracked mouth 
pulses 
in eternal prayer.
Liquid lips 
fire salt and sand.
Wide and open, 
edgeless 
mass of motion.

Receptacle
of light.

Mother 
of life.

Temple 
of time.

Maris Pacifici