Poem Three: Murmuration
*
Light a lamp
on the doorstep.
Salt root of mangrove,
the sea overtakes
the shore. Murmuration
of the green sea turtle,
her arms folded tightly
in the ritual of wrapping
herself in a cocoon of plastic and hope
in exchange for a more auspicious rebirth.
Why can’t we hear
the sound of falling,
the failing waves?
Do we need a witness
to understand the spinning planet,
the murmurations of the deep space
that holds us, wraps us
in the haunting of waves
reaching for shore? The sea turtle,
the witness, the salt of mangroves
in tirades of salt spray,
fans her watery feathers
across shore like a peacock
who cries through the night.
These salt waves,
our dancing
with ghosts.
*