Saturday, January 17, 2015

lost at sea
without words
only wave after wave
like blank lines
i can only name the color: gray

somewhere the wind is sweeping
long strands of hair across my face

 tell me

there is nothing to tell you

if i lie still enough i think i can keep
my balance a little longer
how many people have told me,
i always thought by now i'd be dead
it turns out it takes more than that

no answers
for people i used to know
on the behalf of ghosts
ghosts have their own answers
i have silence
and sometimes
a sentence or two that comes from nowhere
like these:

Watch the horizon
and don't grip too hard
to the wet wood; salt and slime
under your fingers
will betray you. Trying to survive
is dangerous


Trip Brodeaux said...

Love it.

Anonymous said...

Grace, thanks for your blog.

Hang in there.


Frank said...

I love that bit about the horizon and the gripping. You drew a line and you told me not too grab it too hard, but like Wile E. Coyote, I did the opposite.

Glad to have you back among the living?

Anonymous said...

"... and in this least of journeys that is the last ... and in this feast of furies where sails mock the mast ... to see that shore free from tempest fate ... and the relief of wind-worn gaze ... to justify, all those yesterdays ..."

Eureka said...

I followed this blog religiously from late 2007 until you stopped writing here. I come back occasionally hoping for a any signs of life. I miss your eloquence. I hope all is well and that you're still writing somewhere.