Ocean Breath

My morning legs are stronger

than in the afternoon.

One day I’ll walk to meet the tide at sunrise;

let me rest on this ocean floor,

forever with these ancient stones

that whisper as they watch the passing clouds.

Let me rest here forever, I offer my clear lungs;

I trust the sea to breathe for me

in the sweet and salty colours of ocean air.

The driftwood on this beach is white,

as white as are my bones,

which I will leave here in the sun

and in the driving rain.

In the water’s embrace, they will be safe,

for long after my skin is gone,

they’ll still be filled with ocean breath;

flowing in and flowing out,

with the waves upon the sand.

They will be washed clean and smooth,

and the old collection of discarded words

left in the nooks and sutures

will someday be carried by the tide,

out and far away;

to drift beneath slow drifting clouds,

and dance with sparkling sunlight

on the waves.