Dreaming of the Sea, From the Mountain

 

by Steve King

© 2011

All rights reserved

The dream washed over me,

a murmur to breach

my sleep-stopped ears,

as from a familiar;

I felt afar its call,

as the settled sea

might feel a lifting wave:

‘Do not fear me,’ it said.

‘I speak to you only as I must.

‘Giving sense both to your days

and to your small moments,

I will sing of what you most love,

will show you all these things,

if there is yet a doubt.

I will find for you the words

that wait, so separate now

from your reluctant tongue.

From pellucid airs

will spring the stuff

to make whole worlds,

and bring to hand

unmargined firmaments.

‘Do not fear.

You must believe;

surrender,

and I will grant you

that which has eluded;

things that shall outlive

the transient pleasures

in these petty wants.

‘I speak as to a stranger

because you are;

I suffuse you and am within you,

though you do not yet see,

though you have never felt

the truest of my powers.

‘Do not fear me.

No more false witness!

I am the echo

to your heart’s solemn beat;

I will bring the song,

your joyous ode,

the flourish that does flatter.

I will sound at last

the note that sustains.

Yes, I shall be to you

the shout that declares,

the roar that defines.’