Before skin, before landfall

Photo by Mostafa Ashraf Mostafa on Unsplash

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The tillerman pours the tea.
Milk, no sugar and a bit buildery.
This is lost in a single use cup.

Smudge of sea mist, the coast 
smokes the shoreline.
Sea legs find their place
in the deep blue horizon.
A paddle of sunlight washes 
clouds white. 

Summer breezes kayak down 
river bends searching for wisdom 
in parts of the body, finding harmony 
in the nervous system of the bird song.
This antidote to a fucked up world 
dives deep into the pelvic bowl of breath.

In the snorkel, you ask -
What do you know in 
the wisest part of you?*

Outside on the deck, Blighty vanishes 
into white cliffs and channel winds 
blow away cobwebs, clear pathways 
across sea deserts. 

Here we fathom mysteries, settling 
into the history of our bones, 
living with more feeling, reaching 
back to our first ancient memory -
before skin, before landfall
after breathing underwater 
and waiting to be born.

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*Prentis Hemphill, author of What it takes to heal