The Sea Salty Fog of Meditating. {Poetry}

I’ll sit in this contemplation of nothing,
letting the sea salty fog roll over the rocky shores
of my mind.

I’ve stopped searching
for syllables to symbolize,
as they do me no good
in justifying
to you
my unyielding intuition,
which pulses steady—a ray of sun
cracking through the mist.

Blank.

Fog.

It’s okay.

I’ll sit in this uncomfortableness,
legs twisted in full lotus,
letting the syllables of what I said pop up like conversation bubbles in a comic,
and then see them burst,
floating into the receding mist.

Blank.

Fog.

It’s okay:

To breathe in the sea saltiness of air
with each beat of my heart,
resonating in the iambic pentameter of syllables dancing through my mind.

Blank.

Fog.

It’s okay:

To breathe out a sigh of confusion
shaped like a single dandelion seed drifting toward the meadows of spring green,
where it’ll be pulled under the grass blades,
taking root,
and beginning again.

Blank.

Fog.

It’s okay.

I’ll see nothingness is really a no thing,
as the syllables that once transcribed my feelings evaporate
into the morning blue sky.

Clear.

Sunshine now.

It is okay to have gotten lost.

Copyright 2016 © Jessie Wright

Photo Credit: evitaochel/Pixabay

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