Like a queen, she demands to be seen.
She’s stalwart, ever present. Secure.
I resist the noise of living, fighting
My need to chart her, define her.
I sit beside her, with her, and
Let her waves fall and foam around me.
Listen as she whispers the lines
Of a poem she’s been writing for centuries.
On the crown atop her head are gems
Filled with pale colors and mystery.
Her neck holds a collar of whitest, softest lace.
A queen, demanding her subjects see.
I breathe her air, so thick and intrusive,
For her breaths fill the dark places in my chest.
My lungs are briny, balmy, blooming.
Her breaths are east and south and west.
The peace, the calm, the perfect pause–
It never lasts.
For there are others who demand
To be seen.
So while I may often leave her,
I’ll ever love her, see her still.