Here home again, bittersweet world of words.
Red-stained, Isle of blue-green,
Sail waiting to be unfurled.
Glints of gold on glass, mind’s-eye scene,
path of sunlight to horizon, quiet ease.
The din of loved ones, drowning
sea’s strong murmur. But I’ve a new lease, a fervor.
Responsibilities crashing loudly, crowning,
but a secret seeps from my
lapping lips, whispering of far-flung beauty sounding.
Out comes dunes, out comes brilliant sky,
Out comes red earth, surf, and seagull cry.
The thick worlds collide, my heart’s
isle and soul’s farm become intertwined.
Fingers stroke cheeks, sand grains left behind.
My breath is salty, pungent as I kiss
their darling, dirty faces, fists. The fields of corn,
waves of the sea, something missing and found in me.
Beacons, buoys, blueness, quintessential coastal horns,
sea in my lungs, earth in my throat,
compost of being, soul sea-soaked.
Farm’s beauty full width and breadth, feasting on, seeing
It’s flesh alive because of Island wind,
that died a death sown deep in me.
This old dirt-made woman, new from sweet saltiness of sea.