child by the ocean at night: a painting

[left frame]

did you know that the ocean orchestrates ten thousand
songs at night by the waves
crashing against against black rocks, moonlight 
capping the crests whiter than white opals.  singing 
"morning  morning  mouring  mouring  doves  doves" while seagulls
swerve overhead, scavengers of trash lining the golden
sands, gray in the dark.  "ocean mother, mary
would you give birth to me once again?  this time
as siddhartha: i would enjoy the first 26 years before
diving headlong into your magnetic, powerful
waves.  drag me out to sea ...."


i'm at the edge of a
precipice.  golden eagles are circling
below, their feathers as if spots in midas'
garden.  but they're not eagles — black
vultures are circling ten thousand feet
below, snapping up bits of years-dried 
meat.  it's sunny, bright, golden
life-giving, but at the same time, there's
black rain, acid and dreary.

[right frame]

in the cold forbidding predawn, a child is
playing on the wet sand, tickling the sea shells
with her toes.