Pacific Palace Aids

The ocean was as placid as I've ever seen this morning,
as calm as a dreaming baby,
as smooth as a seducer's spiel.
I rushed to the shore to join the sentinel line
of sleepy-eyed seagulls, watchers and holy ones.
I arrived before the surfing magicians
could conjure up their waves.
And sure enough, my mind floated out to sea,
leaving me thoughtlessly on the shore.

I realized my body needed to be kneaded
by those foamy fingers curling gently
as from a young mother's hand.
I wanted to be bread dough, to smell like yeast,
to be pulled and stretched and made supple again.
I wanted to be washed, to have the stain of my shame
worked out of me; I wanted to be clean again.
I wanted to be squeezed and squeegeed as the sky had been,
cloudless and bright; I wanted to be clear again.
I wanted what only the sea could give: new life.

A flock of shadows flew across my face,
and I turned my body for home,
letting my mind find its own way as it will.
Suddenly a butterfly flew around my head,
crowning me like the monarch it was!
I picked up a sand dollar, small change
when I was hoping for something larger?
No, for the priceless epiphanies of this morning
I would have paid much more...