A Secret Place

The coiled intestines of divination

A chain of blood-red hills
a large stony valley littered with blocks of stone
schist and crystal
intersected with parallel rock ravines
Deer come down at night in search of dew
a somber entrance to a petrified forest
stretching all the way to the seashore
petri-facts of different sizes and indifference
rock trees with stone branches
petroliths of solid vegetation
We skirt the recumbent trees
an unknown species no longer existing
The heat grows intense
the place wild and abandoned with melancholy
A herring gull calls out as it hovers curiously overhead
at last the stentorian boom of the surf
We lie dazed by the pearl-blue nescience
by the lick of the midday sun
stripped naked
the waves bursting
the seaweed of our
thoughts rotting on the beach
We fall into the exploding waves
pale white phantoms of ourselves
get sucked seaward in the undertow
as it draws its hissing breathe
drags at our ankles
We maintain a distance
from the deafening roar of the surf
swimming in elation
diving deep into a new area of understanding
in the sea of ourselves
Sea-buffeted and breathless
salt-encrusted and brown as tobacco
we stack up driftwood on the beach
sand too hot to step on
one of the grove of ankylosed trees
offers a pool of shade at the waters edge
deliciously cooled with a creeping breeze
The water evaporates off
leaving us smelling of sea salt
seasoned by what we shared

© @ Z Guadamour, 2011