Call upon our great ocean that she may grace your shores with her foamy lapping. Make yourself as still as sand, who knows the patience of millennia, having been ground down to its essential parts. Wait your turn at the edge of known things that she might soak you with her rising swell. Wish for nothing but to be dislodged by her power, carried into her depths for the chance at a glimpse of the underlife. May that you be taken into her possession, even for a moment, to know the absence of gravity and participation in her rhythms. Let your body be for what it was intended: an expression of her grace. And what small ways you make of this encounter in poetry; what strange songs you sing out of your own silence; what migrations and what ripples you disturb in the world; may they have something of her signature on them. May the you that has been touched go on touching in her phenomenal multiplication until we are all suffused with awe and a salty vastness upon our skin.
2014 © Toko-pa Turner