A Fallen Saint

Slowly stepping forward
I can feel the sand between
my toes and conforming perfectly
to the arches of my feet

The air is warm but the sand
is cold from the water, which
clings to the memory of it’s
winter chill

Still moving forward I feel
the first wave wash over my
feet and my flesh comes alive
with each follicle standing aware

My body makes me hold back,
yet my soul yearns for the water

I force myself forward until
it rises, just above my ankle,
slowly kneeling into the cold
pure lake

My entire body is alive with
tingling in anticipation of the
cold baptism

Now I lay back and feel the water
run over me, the sounds of the world
muffled

And I am alone,
one with lake and alive

I open my eyes as the water washes past
And I see the clear blue sky,
dotted with the distant sun

Castilian Queen rising,
rising with the
Mediterranean morning sun

Your modern Ozymandias
fades in the memory of men,
even as he lives in your smile
and walks in the light of your
Spanish eyes

As Venus sits her perch
above the sea to
view the daybreak,
the Barcelona beach sings
the song of your loss,
the silhouette that washes
away with the waves
once was (only) yours

He can still be seen dancing
in the flash of your deep
brown eyes, and the slow
stifle of your sad smile

But for you it is morning

And the red reflection spilling,
spilling on the Catalonian coast

is (only) yours

Ugly metaphors crawl into each other
Like anteaters boarding the ark

Do you think God had a flash of doubt
As they attempted to gain the entrance plank?

I imagine Him struggling with the choice,
Considering turning them away

As I have done with lines in a poem
That just don’t seem to fit in