I wish to sail beyond the edge of going
beyond concern, beyond constraint,
into a love beyond love’s limit,
each edge reveals another
until surrounded by the taking,
the motion of the sea,
the periodicity, wind wailing
lift and plunge, the matter at hand,
each moment insists on primacy–
the wind-lifted white sail
propelling out, outward motion
to the outer edge before me.
Land bound, I go to the land’s edge
to the rough cliffs where
breakers claw, day after day,
sucking beach boulders in and out
grinding stones, into smooth ellipticity,
and to the rushing sea air, rich
fresh life-lifting air.
I cannot live far from the edges
from the churn of the sea
the chrysalis containing me.
Kent Bowker July, 2012