How far from shore this gentle offering will sail is anybody's guess, but if it sinks, no damage done.
Flowers and fruit at the bottom of the Bay.
Standing at low tide, staring at melons
placed side by side atop flower bouquets
of the simplest sort, the oddest colors –
chemical blue, electric yellow green –
startling but not as vibrant as the seaweed,
still living, temporarily in air
slicked fast to rock and sea creatures pulled back
into the hollows of their shells, waiting
for the flooding back of sea, as ancient
as the wings of light sparking from waves
are brand-new, color just birthed, rainbow
birds and butterflies. No wind. No sirens.
If Neptune’s here, he’s hidden well away.
Noah too. The ark with all its coupling
sailed away – two bear, two zebra, two birds.
Gone. Two dogs, two cats, two hippopotamus.
Gone. Two melons, two flower bouquets
left behind – cut flowers, uncut fruit, gifts
for Yemaya, Mother of all that lives.
Our mother sea, her arms touching stone cliffs
and sandy beaches, embracing distance
in between, holding us, rocking us -- She --
who cajoles her babies swim lightning fast
on rainbow wings, up from ocean waves to air,
breathe color, swallow light, without dying,
dance dance dance inside the flash of the world.