Perhaps I spend too much time staring at the tides,
at the water as it crashes onto the stones,
wild explosions of water and air,
dances that each minute change,
die back and rise again.
You might think me a ponderer, but I am not.
Thinking, alas, comes easy.
It is emotion that challenges me,
that I have to work at, give name to,
understand well enough that it does not overcome me
like a full moon tide.
It is a mystery to me, a struggle,
a navagation on a starless night
where the whole world is black sea
and black stars colliding,
and I am left listening for the waves of feeling,
lifting my finger to the wind,
a blind man decyphering light
that everyone else, it appears, sees,
but I do not.