“Crash Zone”
No river undulating without terminus,
but a coast that cannot keep its shape.
The sea arrives with ten thousand opinions,
each wave convinced it has discovered truth.
White-maned arguments rear from the dark,
smashing themselves upon the granite of the day.
The air is filled with the din of unfinished thoughts,
old grievances dragged ashore like wreckage,
desires shrieking with gull-throated hunger,
every horizon a fresh emergency.
Here, rests is pressed to be found
Even silence is broken into fragments,
ground and reground in the mill of the surf.
The spirit paces its narrow strand,
mistaking agitation for movement,
mistaking noise for aliveness.
And still the waves come,
armed with their froth,
their urgency,
their ceaseless declarations,
unable to imagine
that beyond the breakers there might exist
a depth
so still
it foregoes a need to speak.
.