Funneling

“I will go back to the great sweet mother,
     Mother and lover of men, the sea.
  I will go down to her, I and none other,
     Close with her, kiss her, and mix her with me.”
                  --  Swinburne, The Triumph of Time


OCEAN THRESHOLD

Impossible to take
small breaths
when breathing
ocean air.

My expanding ribs crackle
but I realize I must fracture
in order to grow.

I seem to be a funnel:
too much of something seeks a portal.
A temporary home.

The mouth of the ocean
opens its roar.  I am too small
for such storms.  Overwhelmed
by a systole and diastole--
that also seems part of me.

But the moment
I decide to dive
into what I’ve dreaded
the tide teases
by running from me.

If the lesson is patience
I will learn to wait.

In the mean time,
my feet firm
their stance in the sand.
I want to feel strong
before I’m washed away.

© 2008, Michael R. Patton
dream steps
innocent audio