ocean

here, love felt like
flow, and
buoyancy—
not the bouncy sort—
the “you won’t drown” support of
weight-bearing ocean
carrying life and breath over itself
from one world to another.

it was strength to save, to hold, to exist
without my response, my love, my trepidation
it was complete in itself
overwhelming in its force
unconcerned with my trembling

and it enveloped me,
my nothing that could be nothing else
in the face of such a power
committed to its own will,
its own identity,
its own creation
of love
in me.

_____

AUTHOR NOTE: I’m experimenting with words this month, reclaiming a younger self who was very wounded by a Responsible Editor With Authority who I suspect had lost sight of magic in the midst of his Technical Prowess.

I’m offering myself just a few intentional, scribbled sentences each day that speak truly, just to see what has been tapping against my heartwalls here, keeping me curious about whether I can write words for myself instead of (or in addition to) safer copy for others, or really, if I can write anything that will mean anything.

As I think this project falls neatly under “becoming,” I may re-draft a few of these scribbles to share here.