as a whisper it began
an idea, an image of myself
walking backlit against the sea
a windblown silhouette, hair streaming,
legs slender and stretched out into towering proportion –
the distance between my ankles and hips perhaps seven feet

a girl, a woman, a witch
walking her solitude

and the sounds seeped in like water, like sand
they pooled
cool and silky at my feet
the surge and slip of the surf –
a steady heart drumming
the occasional angry scatting of the seagulls –
a parallel to the water
eternally caught and released
the crackling crickets of shell and stone –

strewn and re-strewn

the salted breath in my nose

and my mind flying outward

of the clouds

always seeking a place –

soft, hot, music-filled, ancient, salted, pushed and pulled and redolent of life –

to land

i feel the world is turning
and somewhere in my journeys
i will find you real and waiting
four heartbeats before and
three breaths behind you feel
me in the morning holding still
like the quiet distances ahead
of me where are you in the night
that you watch me breathing
deep in our garden

– 1992

Portrait of Girl in Gloves by Ruth Channing