I feel a deep yearning for the sea today, and for the treasures in it.
A mottled orb.
Camouflaged to roll and bump. Eroded evenly.
Sometimes suspended- to swoop around green arcs.
Perhaps lay long covered, until whole beaches shifted,
then unveiled to blink in the moonlight.
How ironic, that one who has seen so much should now be opaque.
You are a Voyager satellite. A life-preserving, ice-encrusted capsule
spinning out of deep space.
An old, pitted planet on a solitary orbit.
Gas giant? Pluto, the unobserved.
Scoured. A roving eye, now dimmed by cataracts from
too much looking. The Iron Man’s eye, hibernating for a scattered body’s return.
Pared down through the decades, rolling around with dead sailor bones.
Where on earth have you been?
Copyright Tom Tide 2017