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Ocean
First the tide rushes in,
plants a kiss on the shore,
then rolls out to sea,
and the sea is very still
once more.
Deep, courageous,
loyal beyond reason,
calm surface
covering old wounds;
you return to love’s
shore warily,
shrinking from hard
hurts.
Love again? Perhaps
never.
Your tide has been
long out,
nourishing other,
safer lands.
Better to hold those
familiar joys
and shrink from this
new sunbeam
on the margin of
your depths.
You leave;
In some other life
you return,
give your waves to
my shore.
We live at the
boundary
between my sun
and your waters.
Poisoned Arrow
This being in love?
It starts with pain
and risk.
The good stuff
comes, if ever,
further down the
road.
You only get the
lesson
after you pay the
tuition.
Falling in love is
easy.
All you do is stand
there
where Eros can see
you;
the young man’s a
mean shot.
Then, if you squint
your eyes
in the pale light of
our late afternoon,
you can almost
believe it’s Spring again,
and the arrow won’t
hurt too much.
But the arrow is
barbed and can’t be pulled.
It works out, in
time, when the fever’s gone.
By then you’re deep
friends
or deeper foes.
Endings are never
neutral.
Wasted Time
For a season
I thought I loved
you;
the summer light was
yellow,
new leaves whispered
greenly.
Our hurried coupling
could have been
mistaken for affection
if you didn’t look
closely;
didn’t see the
emptiness
that was always
there;
a dark, third person
companion
to our hollow
fulfillment.
These things have
their cycle.
It’s autumn;
I still think of you
sometimes,
wondering why we
risked so much
for so little.
And it isn’t the
rain I hate,
the fat, wind-driven
driving drops,
hissing their
endless reminder
that things end as
well—or as badly---
as they’re begun.
It’s the bleak white
light
of this October
Sunday:
sterile, perfunctory
sun
without warmth or
nourishment.
Almost as bright and
cold
as our last kiss.
Wedding at Haystack Rock
Gray-blue water and
blue-gray sky
merge on the
horizon;
separated only by
the knowledge
that there is,
always, a separation.
Ocean shudders with
pleasure
sunlight sizzles and
pops;
waves and the stream
of wedding guests
roll in, sinking in
damp sand.
The sun is one with
the gravid air;
wind and the soft
static of waves
a current of white
noise,
hot and bright as
the declining sun.
A pungent edge of
smoke
from an early fire
tags along,
sharpens the
coolness
inside the warm
wind;
they’re also guests
at the ceremony.
Be well. Hold each
other’s hand.
Love one another
always, as God,
who made this day,
loves you.
When rain and
thunder come
you are loved with
equal fierceness.
Copyright
© 2011 John DesCamp
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