The Blank Sea

The Blank Sea

Under our necessary junk we travelVan full to the brim with plastic, cotton, and Velcro.

Upon arrival, The Unexpected Empty is packed with Juvenile Jubilation

Determined to make only one trek,We hoist our things like peddlers sacksEach crunchy, labored stepA measured mix of anticipation and regret

At last, the spot.

Or maybe here?

No, There.

Perfect.

But even perfection clogs

Little ones and Little old ones aboundWho take to the icy crestsDiploid Penguinswith goose feathered chestsWe delight in each crash, curve and dipBouncing and Bobbing over frozen surf

Forward, BackSwing and Sway until the final Slip

ThenThe moment we came here forAnd in that weightlessness,We feel limitlessWe take Wingless Flight

Then Envious Gravity CallsIn a flurrying flash,We feel our feet again.

In the silence we sitBoth dreading the return hikeBut yearning for More.MoreIn the Blank Sea Surveyor of our Infinity