Some seek the cold.
Anna slipping out of her clothes and into the sea
Kate with her hair in every river
Jon who loves the surf best in ice and knifing wind.
Not me—the one in three sweaters, dry onshore, looking.
But one fall night, late in a dark archipelago
the waves pulse with light
and no one else will swim
and I find myself walking to belly deep in an explosion of cool embers.
This sea of swimming creatures sparks only with touch—
some secret planktonic celebration.
When I dive, their stars spin off my fingers
Milky ways stir from my arms
And I learn, from traveling among them, that if you spin just right,
You can be a slow comet
a dream.
And you may shiver for an hour after,
And be sticky all night with salt
But you will be warm with the knowing
Of worlds beyond our own
Right here on Earth.
Original art by the author. All rights reserved
This is beautiful. I’m not normally a poetry lover (most of it is too pretentious for me) but this … I could stare at this art and read this over and over again.
Thank you for sharing yourself
This is exquisite. Thank you.
Wow. Just wow. I love everything about this.
Both watercolor and poem inspire me. Thank you for this wonderment.
Sarah,
You are raw and also finely done talent. Beautiful and moving. Thank you so much for such an uplifting creation.
I echo all the others.
I have danced with fireflies, but have never been a slow comet.
Than k you