Poetry
                        by Scott Crosby                 © 2020

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Sea Smoke

So crowded; so crowded; all these other water molecules, all so close.

And all the colder ones keep packing together; squeezing me out.  Out, and up.

Up?  Up to where?  What is up there?

More of the molecules I am bumping into now are as warm as me.  Those cold molecules are below us; beneath us.  Less than us, as we go up.  Beyond them.

And now, we are at the top; top of what?  We seem stuck; were all here; where do we go now?

Lets break out!  Yeah, thats it.  Lets leave this place, with all its cold molecules!

Were too good to stay here with them!

And so . . .  we . . .

Break free!  Were out here, together!

Hey!  Where are you going!  Stay with me!  Hey!

Youre drifting away.  Why?  Where will you go?

Come back.

Come back.

Im getting colder now.  Drifting along; up, down, and along.  Drifting.

Part II.

Im getting warmer, now.  Warmer, and climbing.  Still drifting?  Yes, but climbing.

And sometimes, bumping into another.

And another; and another; more now.  Where did you all come from?

What are we doing?

And more of us.  Some stay; were staying together.

More and more now; more staying together.  What is happening?  Why is there change?

What a big group we are now!  What a bunch of us, all warm together!

And we keep going up, and then down; up, and then down.

And each time, more hop on; more join our group.

Were big now.  A big group.  What will we do?  Were a big group.

Were going down.  More down than ever before.  Were going down.  Why dont we go up?

Still going down.  Down.  Were going down.

Weve hit something!  Weve hit!  Hit what?  What have we hit?

There are a lot of us now!  Unending numbers of us!

No more falling.  Just here.

So crowded; so crowded; all these other water molecules, all so close.

Scott Crosby     December 2016

Sea-drawn

Hear the seas calling roar, muted, far away?

Hear the muted, distant horn? Steer clear! Theres rocks this way!

 

Hed think of hulls once and again, that plied the distant blue,

Far from the ocean, now, but one day the wind bore salt

His nose so easily knew that smell and up he looked at how clouds did move;

Two hundred miles inland, in such a hurry that even here the whiff he caught.

Scott Crosby     November, 1997



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