At the surface, where the water lapse at the shore,
and particles of salt make layers on my skin.
Where a pungent scent brings the ocean to my eyes,
and gulls cry in the distance.
I can see myself in warped arrays  on the worlds most
ancient  mirror.
Sailor may I ask, do you know the sea?
Do you sail with your life in the vast unknown, or do you
sail to where you’ve  left yourself at the shore?
Have you been lost in all of lifes motion,
with the routine sway of the ground beneath your feet,
sailor do you know this ocean?
can you take your story to the edge of your teeth
and feel the grain that holds true to it’s creation,
Can you speak as though your tongue is an oyster?
Is there sand at the hinges of your lips?
And if we are made by wholly hands as though we are clay,
then if we’re not scored we fall and in the heat we tend to break,
so when you tell your story, make sure it’s a story that can shake
those who need to listen,
if all you are is plastic pearls than you are kept by the company
of your tainted reflection and you can look at yourself in
a thousand crooked angles and a hundred different lights
but you will never look different and
you will never feel quite right.  But if you choose,
you can do what you were sculpted to do, press your nose to
your reflection,  and look past your eyes
down into the unknown.
Sailor, look to the ocean.