The waves are calling me, their voices gruff and lonely.

Their rolling chorus speaks of far away, of icy rivers and

the swells that sweep the oceans roundly.

They call that ancient part of me that I know not

but which is strong as tides pulled by the moon.

I hear the music of creation, a sighing hiss and

drum beats; heart sounds that talk of first life.

The call is always with me, it pulls my soul.

Only when carried, cradled in her arms,

do I feel true peace.

The warmth of a loving mother holding me close.

The giver of being, the endless wave.

 

 

David Garlick, Puerto Vallarta, January, 1999