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Primordial Song

I hear always the sea,
never far,
never still in my mind.

A thousand miles of grass and stone
prohibit my return;
deep grass, dry grass and stone.

My conch-shell mind torments me
with rhythms of the sea;
with whispered memories
of our beginnings in the sea;
the warm red tide within me
imitates every surge of salty sea;
a memory of our birth.

We climbed these hills,
these dry, hard hills;
children at play
following curiosity and grass.

I know where these waters
and this life must go.

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