I can feel the wanting
in the bones of my toes,
this mammal itch to move,
to walk where the sea water laps,
where the lines meander
and shimmer, glorious—
and then invisible.
And so I walk.
There, at the water, the bird feet
x and x and x into deep sand tracks,
gilded in the sun, almost fixed,
fossilized–until they are not.
Swallowed by the changing water,
some tracks smooth into a new canvas of sand,
some tracks stay—
The feet lead and I think, follow—
I do. It’s a path.
Then a different path.
Then not a path at all
and it pisses me off. In circles
they take me up and down
and then to the tiny rivers of ocean water,
now resting in a gentle flow of low tide.
The water says, walk along—
And it says, it’s okay—
It says, I know—
I find more bird feet and sea things
and pools where things of the sea
and things of the land meet—and I think,
for the first time. The wind laughs,
not for the first time—
The sun says, follow the shade—
and I say, no.
And then my body says, nice—
And the shade shares the truth,
a fallen Eucalyptus tree—roots out
of the earth as if it’s lifting its skirt,
trunk sprawled across the sand
like the long leg of woman bathing in the sun,
languishing in this strange land of in betweens.
The trunk says, lie down—
and so I touch the bark and consider—
A lizard flurries in the sun,
hot and busy, full of energy
and movement or ideas
or survival. And he says, rest—
Do you want you want.
The song begins to emerge
from the root base of another fallen tree,
the finest sitting spot for miles—
sea, land, sun, shade, breeze, no breeze
and my body says, stay in between—
Take your heart to your words
and let them meet in the mess of it all—
It’s not the first time—
Live and love in this
Like those waves over the sand plateau,
some things are best left unstoppable.