As these cresting waves break,
sea foam tries to take me
by the ankles,
drawn out,
to be
one
with
the
wake.
Why won’t this
sea relent to the cold
and finally freeze?
Is it the beasts,
so far beneath,
that eternally stir
and keep the salt
from freezing?
Is it poor Behemoth,
still stinging
from that old defeat?
Or is it Leviathan,
still greatly concerned
about being
eaten,
that stares toward the sun,
longing to be
finally free?
You, creatures!
Meet me here,
on the shore,
where sand and sea
cannot fathom
the possibility
of peace,
because I, too,
feel like a beast,
misunderstood,
defeated,
exiled by God,
doomed,
useless,
and unneeded.
The lapping of waves
is unceasing.
Or am I
awaiting
the faithfuls’
final feast?
Finally free,
I am eating me.
©️ CGT, 2020.
