Echo

The first time I set eyes upon the ocean,
a shudder rang my bones with phantom notes
like well-tuned horns in harmony. The boats,
white-winged and slender, kept their sleepwalk motion
across the ever-wrinkling silk and glass.
My throat closed like a shell as something locked
in place, some key connected. Seagulls flocked
above; I soared with each one I saw pass.


In infancy, I dreamt these things, it seems;
saw length of shore and breadth of sea. My dreams
were mingled memory and premonition
of things too old, too vast to understand.
For that first jolt I felt upon the sand
was not surprise or fear -- but recognition.