Ghost of the Western Cretaceous Sea
#38 of poetry
I found this tucked in a notebook. I don't remember it, but I do remember writing it.
The Western Cretaceous Sea, also called the Western Interior Seaway, Niobraran Sea, or North American Inland Sea, was a sea that covered what's now the American great plains during the late cretaceous period.
You look around you and you see the peaks.
You see the pine heights and the softer trees
That flower on the lower, lesser steeps.
You see the little rivers, shire-wise,
That gently carve the foothills. And the sweep
At last of desert floor. From there the rise
Of yet another summersnow clad wall
Of mountains. And it quite escapes your eyes
That here there is an ocean. Indeed all
The world is a coastline. That dim tide
Laps at our feet with each day's rise and fall.
Do not pretend you feel it not inside.
Few eyes have seen that softly sighing swell.
Fewer its scent remember and abide.
Yet though we parch in dryness as of hell
That blessed coolness waits inches away
If only we could taste it. Yet the spell
Can still be broken. In the evening's grey
When set is sun but light is not yet gone,
In rain curtains that wash these walls of clay,
And in the swelling ever-saddening song
The wind plays on the twisting trees of green,
There, there I've seen the sea. There is that long,
Smooth, bone-white strand. Mine eyes have seen
The face of sweet salt water, and I live.
Its memory colors every joy I glean.
Life holds me from it. This I can't forgive.
Nay, sight is not enough. One day shall I
Between my bare toes as if through a sieve
Those slow waves pour. Salt breeze will smart my eye.
The foam's cool touch my sorrows will efface,
And I will understand the white gull's cry.
And maybe I will meet you in that place,
Whichever one of us comes there before.
And there we may speak clearly, face to face.
And then may we be thirsty nevermore.
But if you turn back then, while I remain
To take ship from that ever-present shore,
Know you will live your life longing in vain
To see, to hear, to feel that peaceful sea.
As I did. As I do. Oh, it is pain
I would not trade for any ecstacy.
Until some blessed evening sets me free
I shall be here, longing to see the sea.