Piles of apples
The afternoon yawns
lazily,
hot white sand,
whooshes of waves,
freckled skin peeking
out from a tight bikini,
sickeningly sweet
coconut sun screen,
fading scatters of sunlight.
but the sky has a new hue
of loneliness
stories trail off, words become
lost and confused.
If you look carefully,
you can see where shadows
have carved new patterns
into seashells,
swimmers tread water without
knowing why, their faces
look up with longing
to where pale
clouds wash the sky
still decay has its own
beauty,
casts its own perfect light.
A feast of wabi sabi,
attuned to transience,
life in between.
like a pile
of over-ripe apples,
each season,
the same
yet so unlike
the one before it.
savour the petals
of a season’s flowers.
as each one’s scent
flows gently
into the long and peaceful night.
Freediving
Why try to swim
without water?
nothing will keep you afloat.
under you, a murky
bottom, it’s impossible
to rise through
strangling
strands of algae
It’s like pacing back and forth
on a slimy beach scattered
with crayfish, crabs,
waiting for the high tide,
to carry you out to sea.
Just plunge into icy blue
swing your arms wild
slide jelly-like
through that deep hum of space
shedding layers of skin as you
dive deeper and further
away from shore.