Henri ColeUSAWriting2009

"In my room overlooking the rough hills of Umbria, I wrote a handful of poems, and, for a short time, body and soul were one." Henri Cole

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SEAWEED


I love the green and brown seaweed

floating freely on the surface of the water,

like a Jackson Pollock, or an enormous bed

in which the world is no longer a place

of rigid structures. I feel drawn to it but also

to the sea with all its gigantic beauty pushing

against us and below. I want to look at you

but I do not. The edge of the beach brims

with light that glides down around our legs

and then down into the folded depths,

from which the waves erupt, toppling us suddenly

into their undulating plash, connecting –

over a vast terrain of ditches – the salt of sweat,

the salt of tears, and the salt of the sea.