Meant

There may be words for what claws here inside me
But I doubt it
Some ritual might at another time
Have strung it on a line
To be read aloud
And it would not have been a secret
Not to me
Not to anyone who needed to know
And there would always have been
Others who needed to know

What on this shore is broken
Stays only like spume
A momentary tracing of bubbles
Brought from somewhere deeper than me
Farther away than here
Meant
Like I am meant
As seen from above
By some gull’s eye
And I look for all the life of me
Like food

Adam C. Hall
July 19, 2008