feeling

5/30/07

When I came here to sit on the driftwood you sometimes find
bleached white by the madly shining sun,
the blown out afternoon was blinding to the mind
so the body listened to the music of the surf
and knew its hushed voice before memory--

It was then that I saw their silhouettes distant down the beach,
her nude form undulating on top like a playful seal,
and the mind struggled to be freed from the light
but the body knew what it saw and smiled--

and when she was done, she rose and dashed naked to the water
where her feet splayed, made tentative by the cold. She splashed
over her nakedness and squatted down to let the salty rush
clean her out, and turned to face him. He was still on his back

in the coarse sand. She must have been shivering, she was slender,
and I think she saw me then, way down the beach, watching her with my pen,
because she sank to her knees and maybe laughed, and then ran back
to the towel with the warm body waiting for her naked on the beach
and you could almost smell joy in the breeze

No surprise: shortly after these men arrived at the fence, their conversation turned philosophical.

This is one of the most poetic places in the city. When it is gusting, I like to lean over the fence. I find myself suddenly reconnected to space. Here, feeling flows through the body like wind. It is less contained—the recollection of an ancient memory, so intrinsic that it is effortlessly freed.

The buildings from this vantage take on a scenic majesty that often reminds me of looking at mountains. Always, I feel a surge of joy and relief followed by a sense of calm. Physical landscape and consciousness mirror each other. The visual perspective of this place provokes reflection, introspection, depth. On cool windy evenings when shadows are long and the light is deep, many people simply hug the fence and gaze out.

How is it that what we experience as isolation in crowds becomes attentive, expansive solitude in open space?