BY EUGENE STEVENSON
Copyright is held by the author.
At the waters’ edge, feet step into
a pebbled lake chill, the solstice
weeks away. Eyes seek out
a spit of land, mark the high dunes
where his hands once grasped her
on sand as soft as skin.
Sun through pale blue heat, warm
on the back, salty to the tongue,
burns dark fur to curly blond.
Waves wash over the swimmer,
ten feet under, planting seeds
in seabed, hidden from the gods.
Seed of the sea, black & inside
the skin stretched horizon to
horizon. Surf fills the head with
sea thoughts, the quickness of waves
over earth shakes the body rigid
as if shooting out of the sun.
Earth mother gasps as she lifts
a foot onto the sea’s white hand,
makes wet love with an ancient lover,
blue curls on the sand, while gulls rasp
hosannas against curtains of grey sky,
on the stage of the breakwater.
From high dunes, the earth appears
composed of damp wind, cold hush,
wrapped in fog in a great cathedral.
A host of dark-robed celebrants move
to the altar on long yellow boards
as their voices rise in a soft canticle.
6. Race Point
World asleep, sea deep in dream,
we are awake & watching earth &
moon move to gather up this place,
fold it in upon itself. Discovery, loss,
rediscovery at the water’s edge:
time passes through coupled loins.
Eugene Stevenson, son of immigrants, father of expatriates, is author of Heart’s Code (Kelsay Books, 2024) & The Population of Dreams (Finishing Line Press, 2022). His poems appear in Atlanta Review, Burningword, Delta Poetry Review, Door is a Jar, Red Ogre Review, San Antonio Review, Tipton Poetry Journal, among others, and have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize. More at eugenestevenson.com