self-fish

forgive me if my eyes see
no more clearly than the waves
striking blindly at the stones that surround
the basin of the day,
that grieve over the scattered shells,
the rippled sand, the crying of the glass.

who am i that i return to the sea
with these eyes beholding
the monotonous song of a liquid sage,
a fluid dream sprouting salt in columns;
who is this who sees what the sea
sings in secrets?

what words does she hide from me,
why can i not find the answers
within my hands that try to caress
her lingering form that is never formed?
when will i learn to love,
to not love,
to live and not live--
to just look without seeing,
to just wash ashore and return
to oblivion, not understanding,
not needing understanding.
just silence,
only silence as the sea knows
silence.

sometimes i am tired of this charade,
this parade of thought processes.
i forgive myself this shell, this
selfish self-wish like a fish
dreaming of the open air.