Tribes,
islands swept across the ocean
Invisible roots
isolated
surrounded by the frothing sea.
The breath
moves across the surface
stirring, lifting up the water
a wave
travels across the vastness
propelled by the urging air
carrying, being
power
to be manifested on a distant shore
encountering the gentle slope beneath,
engaging
the floor of the sea,
gives, dies to itself
upon the shore,
to be followed by another.
Endlessly lapping there, waking the shore
shaping a new, evolving edge,
cresting, white, speaking
into the air with its breath and releasing
power
builds, nudges
the slumbering being
defining a new boundary
an awareness of
something.
The wave,
Brought to life out of the infinite ocean
to meet the slumbering island,
awakening it to the presence of
the deep that lies so close, to be known
must be plumbed, yet is bottomless, unfathomable.
Awakened, the island seeks,
the water,
its depths
seemingly distant,
guarded by its surface
glimmering, reflecting,
wavering
ready to yield its contents,
a treasure, hidden deep,
free, waiting
for the one who plunges
face first with eyes opened,
illuminated.
The treasure, there since eternity,
awaits each shore, and faithful,
waves
continue insistently
to come, by the power of the wind
that blows and blows, unseen,
relentlessly delivering its transforming power
to every shore.
Ultimately, the islands disappear,
become one, an archipelago,
connected
at their roots
laid down and shaped by eons
of the sea’s caressing and wrath,
now awakened, whole
alive at last.
The power, stirred up by the breath,
traveling endlessly,
barely a ripple on the surface,
but deep, unstoppable and full of potential,
with purpose.