Dave's Angel

I want to leave behind the heavy body,

With its fallen-arched leather-soled feet,

The knees and elbows spotted with

Various growths of undiscernible nature.

The big belly, the Buddha belly,

Getting in the way, having to be

Maneuvered around whenever

Flight of motion is called for. And,

The sounds: the stomping, stumbling,

Groaning, moaning, sighing, slurping

Sounds. And that special tuneless,

Toneless whistling between half-closed lips.

Not that any of this really bothers me,

But, given the choice…

I choose to be a sea sprite.

A delicate, willowy, semi-transparent,

Possible to see out of the corner of

Your eyes, beautiful Ethereal Being.

Taking flight, oh so briefly, off the wisps

Of sea spray twirling on the tops of

Angry roaring waves. Then blissfully,

I plunge into the depths of tidal surges.

Down. Down. Soaring along the seamount

Of volcanic crust. Deep. Deep. Under

Kick’em Jenny, across the strait of water

Between Grenada and Carriacou;

Where the boats are now heading

Before the sun goes down, and the

Green Flash can blind them with its

Mystic wonder.

Instead, I’m free to fly above and below.

There is neither. There are both. Except now

When there is only the cold of a ship’s grave,

The heat of escaping lava, the exhilaration

Of dancing along the breath of this seemingly

Endless expanse of sea landscape.

Ahead a storm looms… I turn and rush back,

Head on, into the turbulence. The chaos.

It's mine. It's me. It's what I'm meant to be.