Spirit

It is the blowing of this nights' storm across you,
Your skin ablaze with wind and tree leaves,
Wet, plastering you with (their) life blood.
You fall apart and come back together,
With me, without me.
I will remain, still.

A moon scattering this horizon line with errant cloud cover,
Veering and backing with each swipe of your coastal hands;
Violent, stinging.
Remembering and forgetting with each shift.
Impervious to force.
But you asked me for salvation without words.

This fog bank you are enshrouded in
On a trajectory only you will ever know.
Unless you expose it, like the black rock coast in a storm surge.
There is always that choice remaining open,
Possibility.
You can be awash and still be whole, complete.
Drowning, but breathing into it.
Noticing.
There is no never, or too late,
These don't exist at this tideline.

Spirit erupts regardless,
Of you, of me.
It is moved by a force woven out of dark salty matter;
Grey cloud and ocean waves,
Sun coming in shards.
The strength of mountains and the silence of trees.