The Search

White summer moon on the waves
Sadness in the throat of the sea
      
The tide from a wider coastline
gnaws these headlands
       
Ocean is breaking open memories

Watch the somnolent years rouse themselves
Wake back where the sun slaves us
Where the tributaries choke with sickness
        
Tales stir in these fathoms of silt
They birth on the baked clay banks
Rise in the estuaries as islands of yellow sand

Hear our brittle histories crackle like leaves
The rains tear furrows in our faces
Time and children darker hollows
        
When night is a warm skin to wear
I will look up to that sky's wizened men
Search those extinguished stars for gods.

Robert James Berry


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