Like islands, we drift slowly, yet
no one sees our moving. Our appearance
to be still is very convincing.

With oceans all around us, slowly
tearing away, bit by bit,
year to year, lifetime,

after lifetime, we give up
our slow ghost. Drifting
across time as we crawl

towards somewhere we've come
from before. Time-held
wanderings still need

their destinations. To cross
the sea to plunge in the ocean
could finish the crumbling

of our island homes. Gales
of life-crushing laughter
and storms of death's howls

gone a baying at the moon
of our distress, are just
kisses from the island-eating

Friend. Slowly we notice
that the notion for motion
has fallen away. Unconcerned,

and well-centered inside,
we are the moment of sinking
and lifting, and settling,

as nothing but Being.
Beyond That, this song,
this lament set free,

has never been born,
never been known,
it disappears as water

Aware it's the Sea.