Poem of The Sea
“Anywhere there’s energy in motion there are waves,
from the farthest corners of the universe
down to the cells in your eyeball.”
The Wave, Susan Casey
. . . Eastern Mediterranean, millions of years and tears before ten toes two arms and a cranium came to it, there were waves . . . they ran across not the biggest pooling of water on the planet but a fascinating one that would hold a mystical gravity for its dwellers so profound that they would die over it again and again . . . and no presence has been more constant there than Waves—nothing more poetic and seamless than a storm from the West, strengthened by winds and pushing out swell that peeled across the top of the sea, eagerly looking for a far away reef to bond with . . . The Wave—no point is more magical than this . . . Everything! is the feeling, when paddling and crawling one’s body into this energy that has forced this force to pounce upward and sideways and exploding over your head, transcending its brilliance and ancient mirth that lurks along this shore upon your body . . . and so it is, was, and so it shall continue to be: a power and might so brilliant that it allowed a look into the modern-day toils of the region, a way through, a maritime hump that will continue to break—noticed or unnoticed—for all who wish to partake . . . a burst of juice, like a gleaming bolt of Greek-god thunder, still sitting there, waiting for the next time, whenever that glory may be . . .