Maine Time by Ted Guhl


Standing on a cliff above the ocean
surging against the Maine shore
visions glint off the water and pierce
my eye; reflections from the sun on sea
that remind me my blood is salted.

This mystical journey from element to eye
occurs so softly that it surprises my mind
into an anarchy of ideas. Thoughts of
experiments in a cosmic laboratory; small
increments from pseudopodia to psyche.

Out there, below the surface
endless rivers flow like cross-time busses
gathering multitudes for the only journey.
We are all salty blood and crawly flesh
and dissolving into the current.