You say ocean.
You say rock
and you say tree. You
point to these things, and the birds flying or diving in the surf;
you make their cries. Your face shows worthy amazement, brilliant
recognition.
You
are the things you name.
You
reach your arm, your hand stretching, effort to connect; the rock and
ocean reach out by the reflected rays of the setting winter sun. The
tree reaches out by its branching shadow, the wave by its spume and
thunder. You are breathing them in, speaking the names breathing out.
The waves speak your name as they break apart upon the worn stones of
your coast.
Tonight
the sea mist will come in and blanket you while you sleep.