BREAKERS by Judie Maré
Where at a distance you would rise
a growing lift to Paradise,
ne'er could I stop or you deny
the swell that calls you from the sky.
Oh, but I would slow you down
so far away from thirsty ground.
Bright light begins to pierce you through
whose concave vault your mother drew
to soar and roar in arches round.
Oh, but I would slow you down
as colors sing a sweet halloo
translucent sheers more green than blue.
The seventh one, I counted you,
faced the azure air and knew
earth be home when heaven reft
and flooded hope in rocky cleft.
A heaving spray of fractured hue
filled shore sand deep with glistening glue.
Oh, but could I slow you down
a pool to bathe, to trust un-gowned?
Here where I meet you, fill my eye,
send diverse waters rushing by.
Your strength I feel might misconstrue
my pleasured heart from seeking you.
What will of God that reaches far
breaks open an explorer's door,
twice boosts the rise of tidal river,
spreads banquets from the great gift Giver?
I believe life's fountain flows to you,
there welcomes my short rendevous.
Not pearls, your jewels, or treasures lost,
those sparkling points that light has caused
to skim along our surface, join
what counter forces can't purloin.
Oh, but I would slow you down
where I might drink but never drown.
