The ocean laps salty, by Camille Johnson

the ocean laps salty sweet sand
to munch and crunch upon the shore
waves spring off rocks high into the air
in celebration of their magnificence

the sun sets over my left shoulder
the wind pushes deep through the warp and woof of my jeans
I love the sensation it has against my skin, as if it wants to push through that too
feels soft and chilled, like chamomile tea left on the counter too long reassuring me I am alive


I’d like to sail a boat far out to sea, feasting on the fruits of the ocean
and drinking in torrents of thunderstorms. And when I tire of tilapia and sky
tears, I’ll dive overboard and swim down past the royal whales and their
dolphin liaisons, deeper than the silver flashing fish and the electrified
eel. And when it gets dark in the deepest parts, I’ll tip my hat to those
giant squid with glowing vacant eyes, but I’ll pass them too until my fingers
dig into the soft primordial goo that rests untouched in the deepest part of
the ocean. I’ll wrap my hand into it, and then my arms, and soon all of me
will sink into that dark beginning of life. Perhaps I’ll rest there for a
while safely contemplating infancy and infinity. And if I become too
comfortable, I’ll reach even further down, seeking the rhythmic warmth
pulsating from the middle of it all. I’ll burrow towards the center, that
cosmic heat that allowed life to think of existing. I’ll swim the fluid
citrus orange mantel, blast through the saffron in between, and then into that
most solid core. The heat will be awfully offensive, of course. The pressure
will surely split me into a thousand trillion particles and each of those into
a thousand trillion more. And perhaps when I’m incomprehensibly pounded apart
and pushed together, a thought will occur: simple, as a great truths are, but
more profound than anything. And I’ll sit in the core for a bit and consider
the possibility that this is it. But the itch will return, the sense will
grow that I’ve become too settled as an infinite number or seething sizzling
particles. I’ll get lazy and jaded, and the core will seem less wondrous than
before. So, I’ll leave and perhaps burst forth as a ray of sunshine and
gallop across the atmosphere to land on you, sinking deep into your skin to
taste what life you are traveling too.

-- Camille Johnson