The wind was whickering from the west the afternoon
I came to the cape, keeping the sun
high in the ocean's air above me,
knowing that nothing I knew was as beautiful.
Under, the waters were held by the wind
with whitecaps worn like a wasteland blooming
with white wildflowers, fleet and impermanent,
but blowing with a transitory trance of blossoming.
I was reminded of traces of talc, slightly
coloured, but essentially the sight of calcium
as it rises, clearly, like clouds of white,
in the fingernails of a dreaming drawer, unnoticed.And the sea and ocean seemed to dream
while the brilliant green grew over
the hills and the cliffs, climbing into
the salt air, entering legend.
And I remembered, my memories emerging like a fine
mist, knowing not if knowledge could serve me
or save me, knowing not of certain words,
for the world was wild, like a warrior sailing.
And the land was slowly, slowly sailing
into the north, as an enormous waka
that leaves whiteness in its wake, and I seemed
to see, in the ocean, what seemed a vision.
But I speak no vision; the vision eludes me
in my world of words, and willful naming
of phenomena, while knowing nothing of dream,
the cape with its water and whitecaps, and ocean.
- Phillip Ellis 2012
You can visit Phillip's site in the "links" section on the right sidebar.