Waves
a poem by Paul Hooker

Waves

The past is the present experienced as longing.
—Rubem Alves, The Poet, the Warrior, the Prophet.

At night the old man comes back to the waves
swelling, sparkling in the moonlight,
failing, falling back to swell again.
They never reach his bench
safe and dry
on the high side of the berm.
He yearns for a morning when
he returns home
with wet shoes.

She is with him—
something stirring deep inside
rising from the aquifers of heartache,
swelling, surging, a freshening breeze:
moist breath on his lips before her kiss
fragrant hair feathering his face
the weight of her love
in the trembling palm
of his heart.

The sand is their dominion;
the night sky keeps its watch
and stars are footlights all along their way.
They are each other’s untrodden path
a way of wonders in the shining darkness.
Each the invitation to the other’s feast.
He puts out his hand, reaching for
the fruit he has tasted in his dreams
forbidden everywhere but here…

…and she evanesces in the darkness.
The wind turns cold.
Storm clouds gather somewhere out to sea.
He wonders: is memory but exuvia,
cenotaph to a dragonfly
long since gone to wing?
Meanwhile, the waves with each swell bring ashore
a present sparkling with its tidal past.
The morning marks moist footprints on the sand.

About the Author:

Paul Hooker is a retired Presbyterian minister and seminary professor, avid fly fisherperson, jazz bassist, and poet. He is the author of two poetry collections, Days and Times and The Hole in the Heart of God, both from Resource Publications in Eugene, OR. He lives in Austin, TX, with his wife and, having successfully graduated from obedience training, is the obedient servant of Calder the dog.

Poetry Breakfast is an online journal publishing poetry and short plays.
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