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 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 (www.sevencirclepress.com) 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 www.sethjani.com.