So the latest prompt at dVerse Poets asked to take into consideration Pablo Neruda’s poem “The Wide Ocean” and the line …
“Ocean, if you were to give, a measure, a ferment, a fruit of your gifts and destructions …”
.
At The Edge Of The Surf (and dreaming)
I sat at the edge of the surf lap
salt breeze in my hair’s nose eye filling
it with clean crisp scented horizon to the curve and the fall
off the edge of the world and I swam tail tumbled with it (sea monsters be damned)
.
I sat on the edge of the surf lap
salt wet well heavy sand in my short’s pockets filling
them with distant worlds as many as grains some say
soon nothing more than to clog the shower
.
I sat in the edge of the surf lap
salt slap slapping the barnacled sides of swashbuckles filling
my childhood mind of salty peg legged cliches and snarky shoulder parrots
disguised now as distant cargo ships passing over the graves of my stories
.
I sat with the edge of the surf lap
salt sound rushing, hovering, digging my ears filling
them with floating gull life hungered cries above
to sand dig crab scratching on bits of sun glinting worlds below trying to hide
.
I sat am the whole of the surf lap
salt of earth and wind and sky and ocean filling
always ocean, especially ocean, filling
pockets with worlds in my tides
Frankenberry's Attic 
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