Benediction (The Sea)

​    if, on your way to the world
dear friend
you find yourself
shuffling your feet--
find the old dark 
brushstrokes returning,
returning  the bay of lost 
dogs, returning the steel
shiver of the empty hand,
do not be afraid
        there is always the  sea
and its rolling silver
lamps, the sea
and its hoops of horses
the sea and its cargo of
green hearts.
         even in the center of
the earth it is singing
to you; its salt
fingernails run the
drums of your vertebrae
and you are not dead
only sleeping.
         even here, the sea,
the sea presses its bellies
against the weary
stones; you feel it kick
up against your breasts
like that time
before sunset on the
dunes when your
shadow grew long, long
so long it could
reach around the earth's
hips and find your own
hands again
        tugging you again,
again into the sea,
the sea where you always
return to  yourself
your body a wet flame
your spirit a sheer
needle of sun-fire.