Seaside

Water lapping at my feet
I am transported to another world, not
of my own creation but of another

lyric(s);
ebb and flow of water,
collect, overbalance, and fall,
collect and collect, that is all.
Woolf in the waves,
wrapped up in evocative language

that speaks to the weary soul I possess,
tired from constant uncertainty
building from the displaced sensation,
nights in bed,
head resting on pillow with sheep remedy,
useless now, the only known
'comfort' from the deluge.

But now, channeling Woolf, I am...
free, in some sense at least,
free to dream of another world,
free to witness soul melt
to prose-poetry, enraptured

And so I lie by the ocean shore,
daytime passing me by,
unabashedly, on its
daily course, dreaming in her
essence:

if this is all life could be,
just think what a content person
I'd be, just think of the ease.

The thought clings to the
water droplets on my feet,
but I notice at once the
first signs of night approaching,
as the sky colours began to deepen--
purples, reds and oranges illuminating
the cloud puffs.
I begin to doubt this statement,

postmodern theory imbued in my cells,
I begin a dangerous process,
deconstruction of self
and the excavation of lies.

Whether or not I have wished it,
daytime peace disintegrates to
jungle adventure, last rays of sun
vanishing to pitch,
"that is all" losing volume to
questions fit for Atlas.

Walking back to our bungalow,
feeling sand in toes, last marker
of lazy day guided by whimsical
imagination, the process of
deconstruction unravels

in my head questions battle
one another for control,
answers emerging from shadows,
only to be shot down by a force
most powerful-- Doubt.
And yet it becomes clear, with each step
in the sand, the ultimate
question to-night is:
Do I just want to dream forever?