Wedding Sea Mist
the sandpipers daintily skip
and pick at the golden bulbs
among the tangled weeds


as the fog
rolls over the lacy surf
like the sweeping veil of a bride
misting the mid-day sun. 

with gulls as escorts and
starfish bouquets
and shells of gold and white
the bridal breeze swishes
and swirls the surf
pale and gray and green.


forms appear suddenly,
the wedding guests at this feast,
a man with his dog on a leash
and a couple pushing a baby cart
over the wet gleaming sand,
laughing. 

the fog's rolling in, the old woman says as she squints toward the sea
the maid of honor she,
gathering shells in her canvas bag,
for later.

Soul of the Sea
I belonged to the sea,
and like sargasso,
I floated away;
murmurs of waves
pulse through my veins,
and the tidal pools I left
to be flotsam on the land;

my ghost ship self
drifts by the glass sometimes
—by the bed that contorts to my form—
and beckons me to go back;
back to the indigo sea,
that throbs as the beat of my heart
back to the sapphire sea
to live again.

Gloria Gay