After four months the deed is all but done.
Purging new watery stomach illness.
Lunar flood and ebb, endless tidal rolls.
The flooding tide is exuberance.
The ebbing tide is melancholy.
Myriad shakers whispering over years
Of seashore and her myriad names and roles.
Fashioned a thigh bone unearthed dead child flute
To enchant with listless drowsiness the cruel ones.
The wailing sailing ship rolled industrial seas
And the crew felt jilted by the Boston and London
Owner masters. We need to increase our share.
For are we not the ones who toil the stony
Seas, who climb and fall monotonous motion waves?
Did we not, just last week, farewell mates young and true?
Sun burnt, wind burnt, cold burnt, salt burnt the crew flared
In impious revolt, and hacked about and threw
Christian captain headless over wave splashed side.
Face down the sand the entrance to the inlet.
Earth of the sun made his corpse swell and hotter he grew.
And vigorous came shining greenery and plants,
And ingenious came signing birds and stowaway
Creatures, soon he was covered with sandy life.
On the crew sailed on to fabulous islands
Of the Brazilian freedom coast where lived legion
Squads and ships of freebooters and ragamuffins,
Building families, enlightenment wealth promise,
Made for all in harmony and with equality.
Wisely had the masters insured again lost loot.
Boston and London slept no gains. And the caution
To this day still sleep guards the inlet. Dreaming songs
Remembering cloudless bells to jingle the sea foam
Rolling endless up and down ocean sand shore.
The old woman tosses and shakes her long wet hair,
The gardens of kelp swaying the turbulent seas.
Feared by some she dances and leaps playful dolphins.
Wandering sand songs and bells and haunts ancient
Walking the beach she reads and deciphers fortunes
To come, births and deaths into the future. The shape
Of the foam the sounds of rolling swells and sea shells.
