I believe that hope will do until the gift of faith is given. I believe that the risk of living is far better than living to avoid risk. You see…
My landlocked mind rocked me in the bosum of Johan. And his faith and his presumption fed my unquelled fears for the children in the sea and me, standing at the last lick of the finny waves, watching. For the children played death with the wind-wounded waves and could have drowned, could have fed the hungry sea, as easy as the bobbed like nuns. And I heard their mother’s sighs; mothers’ cries that haunted me like dead childrens’ toys and missing noise.
This show’s life I knew as the sandcastle crew splashed a rainbow in the face of Neptune in his next to last lap. And he and I knew the fool birth makes of the yet undead.
Still I would have walked away unwet from this scene of the unsain sea, except for me looking down, looking down at my legs, my legs like pilings, that sounded the foam and were answered.
I believe in the beauty of language, the enlightenment of metaphor and the miracle of wisdom that meter and rhyme inficts on the diligent poet.
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