Some things are not negotiable.
This ocean is here,
whether I am away, or gone.
Here, gauze curtains surf-sing a breeze,
this simple light-line casts
no shadow, by will or desire.
Offshore, crashing waves, a tuning fork,
bending sound and spheres.
Some say the world is so complex
a higher being must have fashioned it,
so as to make the magnificent mundane.
This is not science, or reason,
this longing for purpose. Across
the nation a war is raging,
newspaper headlines scream,
court cases fired like bullets, preachers
pontificate, scientists adjust
vowels, dusty bow ties, declaim.
On a sunny day the shallow tidal pool
a mirror, cosmos or chaos?
Palms sway beneath the weight
of slashing seaside rains,
and a conch shell perfectly mimics
the rushing world from which
it has been drawn, if reluctantly.
Splayed sun-loggy on the beach, your
pheromones improbably cling to mine,
both just struggling to evolve.

Volume 1, Issue 1, 2006