Always, even before the mountains were born,
it was the sea that folded its dark soul
around algae bloom and plankton and embryonic
fishes, around ashen rain and shattered prisms of light,
and offered up its titanic floor as the resting place
of life. Consider that broken shell just washed ashore,
its barnacle covered walls torn from some reef, some shoal,
some rotted keel. I can still make out its once perfect
shape, its tiny spiral staircase winding to a sculpted peak,
and I raise it to my ear, hoping to hear the song
of waves beyond my reach, but in my hands
hold only voices—lost beneath the sea.
* * *
“Requiem” by Mary O’Connor, as published in Dreams of a Wingless Child, Wheatmark Press © 2007
Lighthouse painting, acrylic, Mary O’Connor © 2014
2 thoughts on “Requiem”
Wonderful Bradbury quote, lovely poem!
Thanks! Good to hear from you!