Coastal Rim, The First Day
Fixed-wing craft kiss the ocean
While we absorb wind over water,
Coltrane straining the air,
The slow seeping of evening hours.
Our seats balance on the edge of the earth.
We study the chaos of the waves,
The riddles of the void,
The desperate hungry potential
Of the universe without form
Breathing like a baby,
A constant dancer.
We soak the poetry of god
And fumble working our words
Weakly with professions of wonder in our chests,
Confessions of thunder on our tongues.