Life bubbles up and dies down like the foam
on this unbound, endless motion.
“About the Sea”
Nazim Hikmet (1902-1963)
The incoming tide cuddles the strong shoulders
of this rocky shoreline, reaching all the way
to the junipers, their branches tattering the fog’s
morning margins as swirling waters eddy then surge
over the striated rocks gradually emerging from sea
foam borders to deposit its mysterious detritus
the distant news of last night’s passing storm.
The salt pond’s calm pools obscure secret chambers
where colorful creatures, chitinous crustaceans
find safe haven from the gulls and cormorant
perched on nearby barnacle-crusted boulders.
I am reminded of Hikmet standing alone at a shore
bordered by dark and shadowy balsam and pine forests
quietly mourning the sadness of an empty auger shell
breathing in the iodine fragrance of a southern sea.
Later the tide turns and ebbs beyond the rocky ledge.
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