I can remember how the brine tasted,
when, emerging from the cyan ocean,
though rich with sand dollars, still unsated.

On the distant bar, they went unwasted
as I dove headlong, in fluid motion,
I can remember how the brine tasted.

You are the rocking sea, unabated,
drawing me back to my old devotion:
though rich with sand dollars, still unsated.

Breaking the surface, like air, you waited.
The sign of the cross, my absolution.
I can remember how the brine tasted.

In my mind’s depths, you I contemplated,
The cross (my poverty!), convolution,
though rich with sand dollars, still unsated

Yet not-grasping is still consecrated.
On white sands we offered our oblation.
I can remember how the brine tasted,
though rich with sand dollars, still unsated.

Image credit:Carlos Martins

I  am a writer living in the southeastern United States on land my family has owned for six generations. Besides writing, I am a pianist and a vocalist. I make attempts at the guitar, and the lute. I have been published in the Harbinger Asylum,  A New Ulster and Ethos Literary Journal, for which I wrote a book review for Claudine Nash's The Wild Essential. One of my poems also appeared in the anthology Epiphanies and Late Realizations of Love by Transcendent Zero Press. My first chapbook, Rivers and Relics and Other Poems, was published in 2018 by Desert Willow Press, and my current chapbook, Light, Refracted, is being published by Finishing Line Press. Visit me at my new blog, Native Noise: Observations from the Southlands. (www.nativenoise.one).

Thanks to Open Arts Forum for providing a home for poets and other artists everywhere.