The distant tanker will soon fall off the horizon of life,
by David Taylor
now blurred by the haze of distance and then swallowed
by the roundness that hides our future.
The trawlers float across the bay then, behind the headland,
modern hunters that will fill our plates;
life consuming life.
Close to shore the children play on lilos,
bobbing up and down on the surf
and splashing in the foam of waves which hurry
towards an invisible fulfillment as they give up their form
and merge back into the depths.
We stand here on the beach,
the gulls hang motionless on Earth’s great breath
and compelled by a natural hunger
prepare to dive beneath the surface of the ocean.
We, silent, motionless, resting on the wind
with a hunger deep within;
the nets pull us back to the surface
as the waves foam and swell in our minds.
The sand under bare feet crumbles away
and becomes pools of still, salt water;
an ocean’s teardropp for each passing imprint,