Saying goodbye to a home is always hard, but the beautiful natural world of coastal California was especially painful to leave behind. I loved to look for sea glass and watch the seabirds and the waves, something very unique to living on the coast. "Upon Leaving the Ocean" is a reassurance I wrote for myself and my family that we would take a piece of that special place with us in our memories.
Come, hear the sound
of a pelican’s cry.
Come, come; it’s calling, calling.
Nor does it matter the shade of the sky.
Come, watch the waves falling, falling.
The sun could be bright, lighting trinkets galore.
The fog could swoop in, embracing the shore.
And you could stay searching there forevermore.
Come, watch the waves falling, falling.
Could we go back
to dig in our hands,
seeking smooth forms
among grains of sand?
To hone in our gazes,
make them sharp, like a bird’s
or watch the spray dance
a ballet? Rest assured:
The ocean promises to remember you,
ingrained in your mind as if by a spell.
If longing is magic, then surely it’s light,
the clear noonday gleam of a shell.
Ah, an abalone shell!
A treasure to mind and eye.
Time does its sculpting so quietly there:
shells into sand by and by.
And the clouds mark its passage
not in minutes or hours
but in the sway of anemones
like undersea flowers,
and over the water
hold some kind of power
unheeded by seagulls
atop rocky towers.
Remember the sound
of a pelican’s cry.
Remember its calling, calling.
Let stay in your eye the shade of the sky.
Remember the waves falling, falling.
Place your palms in the pebbles.
Feel the spray on your face.
Watch as the tide leaves footprints erased,
the foam pulling back its frothy white lace.
Drift asleep to the waves falling, falling.
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