Gazing Windward On a Summer's Evening
Gazing Windward
on a summer’s evening
Loch David Crane
1981
Whose waves these are, I think I know:
his home is in the sea below.
He will not see me stopping here
to watch the whitecaps come and go.
Enlisted sailors think me weird
-- civilian with no duty near—
they stop to wonder, one or two,
if they can help me out of here.
Up from the depths comes royal blue,
which lightens into turquoise too;
the aerating bubbles rise
dissolved to see the cycle through.
Dark and deep beneath the skies
the pulses in the ocean rise.
So lonely, not a seagull cries;
so lonely. Not a seagull cries.
Copyright © Loch David Crane | Year Posted 2014
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