© Steve King
All rights reserved
The sea is always with me when I think of you:
great tides rolling—my thoughts endue me
with that sense of moment,
each surge carried near or away,
drawn afar, then covering back,
all at motion, never rest.
And unfathomed currents, too,
running to some fancied depth;
running, as if there might be escape
from the call of the one moon.
As if those tides might be displaced
by whimsical contrary things.
They say we are all come of the sea.
In these instants I would sure agree,
each dying wave, each rising storm,
resonant of every life within.
And so I carry you with me,
feeling ever that old pull,
grateful for each coming wave,
lifting always as the great tides will.