the sea right now

all there is is the sea. the rock strewn shore is the sea and the cloud-mottled sky is the sea and the sea right now is a single small boat.

out of the monolithic sea, waves arise like letters, like a word creating islands, like a continental me, descending toward the silent sea.

from pulpit point, the ocean stretches out to an horizon marked by nothing but clouds and one smudge of an island struck by a lighthouse.

this is white island, one of several islands comprising the isles of shoals, and the only isle visible today within the sea of heavy mists.

before white island is a buoy & before the buoy, some rocks & before the rocks, this shore & before this shore, me & before me is only sea.

this boat is rising and falling with the loving advances of a rising and falling sea. but the sea rises and falls through That which is me.