Lament For Poseidon

Photo credit: Brianna Fairhurst

the sea flicks idle hands up to the rocks
the empty sea
the tomb of the sea;
clear to the shallows
some weed, some fish
some boats.
a salt spray touches skin, touches lips
its taste
like fish.

the wet rock, the dry
the crabs in pools
the islands mark your grave.
no, the sailors are not sorry for your death,
spared now your fickle spite;
it is the land that mourns your passing
the boats at their moorings
whisper your name in the night.

who would be a mermaid?
not I, not I
not I in the empty sea
the tomb of the sea;
not I where the coral dies
nor where the waves fall away from the rocks,
not I when fish hide
and shark stalks prey.

in memoria
god and soul of the ocean.
among the foam and the spray,
among the harbours
the shallows, the deeps,
you rest alone beneath the waves’ endless motion.
beach pebbles hiss beneath breakers
and gulls call their sorrow in ceaseless lament;
on the shore of your kingdom,
the empty sea;
the tomb of the sea.

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