Open water

do we in our moving move toward life or death do we in turn sell, burn & prosper   do we raze our haven   as death?

Stroke by stroke drawing us Out there?   Father of rhythms, deep wave, mother, There is no out there. All is open. Open Water.   Open I.

Open hearth   Open stone       crucible of love     crux of I

Women, ships, lost voices. Whatever has dissolved into our waves. I a lost voice moving, calling you on the edge of the moment that is now the center. From the open sea.

Whatever has dissolved in our bones as rust recalls - we recall the tender the edges recall, the stone, the work of the sea as the breaking out of open water.

--- Lines in bold are from Muriel Rukeyser's "The Outer Banks"