hope

this window is just
the idea of sky

in the same way hands
merely suggest caress

human hearts imagine
more than what is given

this ceaseless
invocation is hope

and is the reason for
so many moon songs

© Sarah Whiteley

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boating at night

the boat of course is metaphor
though it is, undeniably, night

and fingers do trail over the side,
but also over stern and bow

it is also true that we do move as water –
that hair cascades and skin ripples

but that again is metaphor,
for which I am unapologetic

and I cannot be at all contrite
for not minding stirring up depths

or were we to drown together
beneath the moon’s regard

in fact, my heart, that may be all
that is certain and indisputable

© Sarah Whiteley

a poet’s levy

certain books stay hidden –
those in which loss and love
exist without conclusion

and at times I may crack them –
draw new maps to old places,
new creatures of known constellations,

and let the moon out into the room
once more, to rest on shoulders
that can bear the additional gravity

a tolerable price to pay
for the pen to be able to say
“I survive! I survive! I survive!”

© Sarah Whiteley

night swimming in Tulum

turtles are the only traffic here –
moving slowly landward with
the June-shadowed moon under palely
trailing feet and a torrent of stars

all day, the sea bloomed –
bursting brilliant in
white florets against the sand

but at night, the upsurge eased
and sun-brushed curves containing
all the day’s heat submerged
into cooler divulgences

© Sarah Whiteley

I have a very unofficial sort of bucket list. It changes all the time, but there are a few things that have remained constant and one of them was skinny dipping in the Caribbean. And Tulum last June was the perfect place to fulfill that particular wish – amazing experience! I’m heading back in October and am trying very hard to convince the beautiful person I call boyfriend to come along with me.

In other news, I think I’ve decided to combine Ebbtide and Tied to Sky into a single blog. Things may become a bit messy here while I play around and decide how I want to revamp the site in order to better accommodate both poetry and photography/art. My apologies in advance for the chaos.

Be well!

almost spring moon

the insistence of clouds
makes of this a barely moon –
a struggle against
the low skies of winter

and yet yesterday
I watched a robin stridently pipe
his wish for a willing wife
from the top of the power pole

spring, though still disguised
in her winter veil,
emerges from the damp –
shyly purple, in violets

© Sarah Whiteley