Wrote this when I got in my car after working on a Saturday. I just kind of sat there and let the cars and people wash around me, and jotted this down - here it is unedited. I'll stick to short stories usually, I promise.
Oh and before that mess, here's a link to my favorite publication to peruse until my perusers are sore:
The 13th Warrior Review We're just people, or so I am told
and we think the same about every ocean wave
a glance, and - "oh, they're just waves."
when they crash we might remark on their size or sound
a wave is just a wave, wherever found
Or, is it but a false lid?
An aqueous skin
start to stop, shoved and caressed, shaped by the wind
below, in the dancing light do turtles and whales talk
shrimp and sharks, and other strangers to the air above
we may catch a glimpse, but rarely
of these other lives, languages, memories
if we cast one brilliant beam through just one wave
follow it from innocent ripple to handsome swell
from top to bottom, we'd know a new symphony
notes of exotic fishes and glowing jellies, buried bones and gold
in the deeps, secret vents seed blind nightmares
unexpected shallows, the autumn of coral hints the end
Rushing, bubbles, shocking collapse
flattened to an outline in the sand
I surely know it soaks back to feed another
else I might cry; journey's end closed my window with a bang
but now the lid is open
the sky, the sun, the wave - just a wave
invisible elemental skin, curtain to an opera
We're just people, or so I am told
