Equally Invisible

It is one of the few parts of you still young,
that desire to clamber over vast stones,
Take giant steps one granite block to the other,
Climbing when needed, charting a rock-strewn course
into the morning fog, until you are far enough in
that both the shore and the sea are equally invisible.

It is comfortable, this place, lost to the world and lost
to the horizons, seeing only the stone before
and the stone afterward, no worries except whether
you can make it to the next one.

Such a place of peace! With no expectations,
only what is, in the moment. The fog your friend.
The waves lapping as the tide rises.
Broken oyster shells where the gulls have been busy
preparing their meals. A thousand shades of grey
and you are but one. As perfect and as imperfect
as anything else in the world.

About this poem.

I have come to a place in my life where I am not sure whether I want to be invisible, or very visible. So, a poem about that. A poem about climbing over stones, a thing of my childhood I still love to do. Poetry is never about one thing.

The picture was taken at Kennebunkport, Maine.

Tom