Then I was alone with the ghost,
With the daylit ocean coming towards me,
The mercurial water with parted lips
Not still, but singing.

From each end of the darkened shoreline
Some other past approached,
Mine perhaps, so lost to memory
That it seemed a stranger,

Or maybe it was the lost childhood
Of the sea itself,
Wandering the desolate evening
While the clouds grew faint

And the tides turned their longing inward.
It was a pattern equally rich
In nostalgia and redemption,
A shimmering uncatchable scene

More often glimpsed through the
Fogged channels of death
Or a dream’s tiny doorway
Then in the quiet, oceanic depths

Of some imperfect poem
Lying on its back at the notebooks margin;
Poor, beached mammal of music,
Unidentifiable headstone of song.

—Seth Jani


Seth Jani-Author PicSeth Jani was raised in rural Maine but after much crisscrossing and globetrotting is now a resident of Seattle, WA. He is the founder of Seven CirclePress ( and his own work has appeared throughout the small press in such places as The Foundling Review, The Hamilton Stone Review, Hawai`i Pacific Review and Black Heart Magazine. He has a strong penchant for pet rabbits and medieval history. More about him and his work can be found at