I don't understand this sunrise


I don't understand this sunrise
from this cliff.

I don't understand this parade-all-by-itself,

that nothing lifts it

from such wide all-shoulders Ocean.

I don't understand this sunrise
from this       alone,      all  the  way  over  here.
How, Why it comes out of the ocean there,
              no sound?

How can there be
and computers,

or how can I be
back hustling my alarm clock
and get voice mail
in a room with walls.

How is there such a roar I can't hear?
And why don't the waters there
where it comes
rise up, surge-bewondered,
and rush-in-a-crowd?

Why does not this cliff
explode now
and fly?

And this piddling-with-my-face-wind
take on eyes
and gape?

Why does not this darkness of
light years of night sky, moon and stars
such a Universe Buzz Saw
rolling across?

Why am I suddenly afraid it may have eyes?

Why am I suddenly but a piece of cliff,
a non-member, lost midst
The Gathering of God's Control-Room?

I don't remember any appointment here.
Am I supposed to do something?

I don't understand.
I don't understand this sunrise.        




I kept watching

what we call
the bay,
going from high tide to low tide.

That is just the name we call it.

It is actually our world's pulse

exposed on the ocean;

the bottom gear

the earth moves on
as it tumbles through space.

As it throbs

it makes the lowest bass tone
humming deeply into space,
heard as far away as Pluto.

We hear it always,
but since it is always,
we do not notice it.

I was allowed
to walk on it.

It did its grand movements
every six hours
as it has done
for the last 12 billion years,
and with no attention to me.

I felt its time

and my time.

Under my bare feet
I could sense
the billions of fish
that were born and died there
and the ones now swimming
for their time.

This is my time.

Life goes as does the tide.


Copyright © 2007 by Howard Seeman from UNLIKE ANTHING ELSE in the UNIVERSE, Author House Press www.AuthorHouse.com