The following piece was written at a very difficult time in my life, and before I had been diagnosed with clinical depression. The sadness of that disease is fairly evident in the lines of this poem.
"MEDITATIONS"
The clouds are battleship gray, lowered
like a dropcloth leaking splashes of rain
The low tidal surf hisses far out on the
pungent shore, seagulls mutely pacing
The sea is tinged with the red of fertile weeds,
looking as if the heart of the ocean is bleeding.
On the red stones I sit, hearing sea converse
with boulders and wind whisper through hair
Pondering, in a Wolfe-like homecoming, the
single, aching jewel of the past
I am turned inward to visions of wet red
rocks glistening in the sun
My heart caresses a little girl's giggle, the
echo of momentary joyous freedom in a far too bitter youth.
