Abalone. There is a dance on a cove for a rock clinger.
Stand on the bluff and smell the sea.
Know in your heart love is a possibility.
Climb down there, do, toward the sea.
Scamper down the steeps and rest where
the still water shows a minor deviation from its definition;
see how it is alive; place your ankles in the salt and oxygen and life-giving;
give back the life and the slow undulation;
endeavor to be as calm as the water at Stillwater Cove;
forge a style that will afford your knowing; the sea, the sea, and that way of moving.
I breathe the settlement of the ocean.
On the coast of it mingle my tears and my blood in similar patterns,
this ebb and that flow, you know.
We are the ocean. We are this mixture upon it near.
We have our ankles in it, together, in love.
We are this cove of still water.