The Sea Remembers
The sea remembers all that we bury: ancient
treasures from lost cities, raised for wonder
and inspection now and again,
then tossed back forgotten;
songs of children and dogs played
on kite winds one day in April;
every tide that turned tail and ran back
into the next wave; all the shells that called
our dreams when no one else would listen.
The sea remembers: beach races; camp fires;
crab legs dipped in red wine, hibachi fired,
sucked until all we tasted was fingers stuck in sand;
pirates and their plunder.
The sea remembers my name
for I am the wind in winter,
summer's gentle breeze,
child walking in wonder,
grey gull and heron wild.
I am woman. I know and hold
secret the closed seashell.
Francis, I love this poem who wrote it, is there more?