The fog swirls over the boardwalk like a warm, wet kiss,
pressing up and inside of me with each breath I take.
This flimsy veil parts as my limbs pass through, revealing
the subdued colors of seaside buildings beyond, each pointed edge protruding,
and yet caressed.
The gray planks groan under my footsteps, muffled moans
echoed by the seductive whisper of a sea I cannot see except in glimpses.
I walk through time as I push aside each layer and let each
layer close behind me, always looking for something beyond this translucent
fabric, something my fingers can curl around, my palms can hold.
The heavy air makes me breathe pant, a one man parade on
this otherwise empty ocean side in Ocean City , New
Jersey
The wind, when it whips up, casts debris across my path, the
detritus of the previous day when crowds filled this space, and devoured it,
and its offerings to the gods.
All now is wet and raw as I push myself into it, invading it
slowly, taking its salty scent in like a sneak thief stealing something
previous I know I can never give back.
No hawkers announce anything this early on such a day, only
the forlorned cry of invisible gulls, shrill voices filled with the same ache I
fell.
Everything here is like an oyster, gray and filled with the
promise of some secret treasure, some previous pearl I might find it I probe
deep enough and long enough, though I search for simple pleasures in this world
filled with pale shredded fog, aching less over the fate of humanity than my
own humanness, seeking not wisdom, but a steaming cup of hot coffee that will
open my eyes and perhaps let me see passed all the veils of illusion – some of
which I have created for myself, some that others cast before me, the
seductions of life, made more desirable because they are hidden from view,
coming up like empty, pearl-less shells when I finally pry them open and devour
the sweet meat they provide.
But this is not like the place where I live, even at the
height of season, and people do not rise up with dawn on days like this, and
the stores I thought would provide for me remain shut up, like closed eyes
along that side of the walk as I walk, though I know somewhere in this, beyond
the fog there is a place if only I walking long enough, press hard enough, and
cast aside enough layers of fog.
There is a bit of justice in all this since I could not
resist sneaking out of the house where she and others sleep, drawn out by my
own sense of urgency, with the foolish belief that it might find relief here,
when all I’ve found is a veiled world dancing before me, teasing me with
flashes of real things beyond, but never revealing enough to satisfy my
curiosity, always holding out some new promise behind new veils I must cast
aside again, and again, while I breath deep the mists.
And yet, I would have it no other way. I do not want to see
too clearly or believe that there is no promise for the future, even if it
proves an illusion when I get there. Sometimes it is better to parade through a
fog with the hope of finding something, than to know with absolute clarity that
there is nothing to find.
And so I stroll this boardwalk looking for something I may
never find, kissing and being kissed by a fog that perpetually seduces me.
No comments:
Post a Comment