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St. Ives

The swing and swish of the waves breaking in,
the sea like the planet breathing in our sleep

each suck, hiss, and pause of drawing back…

as I breathe, or don’t breathe, and want to be as it
as deeply with you in my arms, in your arms
Mother of the Sea.

Mother who gave us breath, breathe me.

All saints, and the souls of the dead
who know that life eternal is inside the breath
say listen to the sea, and surrender to the sense

that takes you beyond form and name and memory,
fathered in your birth and death
by the Father of the Air

and the whisper in my ear on this driftwood bench…
the car that purred past on this sidestreet like a silhouette
in the still dawn pre-dawn, lingering…

like the warmth between us as I finally come back to bed.

Wherever you are, come back to your breath.

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