Wave Theory

July 11 2011

I could be persuaded

the centre is here.

A flat earth

that ends

in a bottomless edge,

wooden ships

plummeting over.

The ocean, extending

as far as I can see,

the distant horizon

an unbroken line

of blue.

The sea, aquamarine,

sky, cerulean.

Waves roll in

incessantly,

a gently rhythm

that must have been set

by some geocentric metronome

ages ago.

Ticking over, and over

as if to console us.

They crest near shore

break, and surge

in a froth of surf,

then fizz, returning

draining hard-packed sand.

Where all phases of matter

co-exist   —

liquid, solid, gas,

wave, and particle.

Where land ends

and the ocean is spent,

here, at the outer margin.

Pure energy, moving through water

propagating across

an entire planet,

only to move the sea

a mere 6 feet,

darkening my footprints

wiping them clean.

It’s these waves

I cannot explain,

an endless procession

from the ends of the earth.

So the glassy calm

at sunset

seems transient, at best.

The waves, like a heartbeat

and this long …  held… breathe,

as if the earth was decompressing

re-setting itself.

The known world, transfixed.

The universe

still circling.