To Whomever

I catch glimpses of it here and there;
The sea plays peek-a-boo between the hills.
When I climb a brow, full blueness sets in,
So wide, its curved surface seems
Straight as a taut string.
From afar, the sea is silent,
Weaving light, sparkling with half-second stars;
Reaching for the land’s embrace,
Sculpting chalk cliffs in nature’s hand.
My eyes could not have their fill of the blue,
But could never take all in.
The waves undulate like muscles under skin;
The seawater, full of life unseen,
Dense as a poem
Down to the seabed, where only light
And dead sailors sleep.

On the beach, cobalt waves in perpetual motion;
They lap when you sleep,
Just as they waved before life,
And shall long after;
Where anemones coil
For all time within rock.
The tide plays, rolling translucent shells,
Sweeping black seaweed
In irregular beats of time;
So soft a voice for one so immense;
White foam making wishes at my feet,
Washing away my prints,
So I feel myself disappear.
And you come into my thoughts,
When it’s you I’ve tried to forget.
The sea clashes,
It snaps out my wishes.

The sun goes down;
The stretch turns grey
As stone in rain.
The moon takes hold, the tide retires,
And I remember how
A sea cuts me off from you.

Howard Benn