The sea is an old woman
\nwashed on the shore.
\nShe sighs,
\nshe slumbers,
\nher white face stares at the sky.
\nShe wears the pearls of the moon.
\nHer braids curl about her head,
\nher last glory.
\nEven inside the continent,
\na thousand towns away,
\nher voice comes soft as a note
\ndwindling on a string,
\nthe pluck of a girl\u2019s finger.<\/p>\n
Another league into the mountains,
\nand it is the same.
\nThe woman in the sea,
\nthe sea itself,
\nthe breast of a goddess,
\nlike a shell,
\nshe stands inside the chamber
\nof her nautilus and sings,
\nand tells us her stories.
\nWe belong to her.
\nI never stay away too long,
\ngo too far.<\/p>\n
I listen when the room is dark,
\nwhen life frightens me,
\nwhen I have too many questions
\nand wonder where the footprints
\ngo in the sand.
\nThe old woman reaches inside me,
\ntouches a harp,
\nand light returns,
\nand she smiles
\nfar away in some other dream,
\nwhispering,
\nI live forever,
\nyou are my children,
\nthe lullaby of my soul.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The sea is an old woman washed on the shore. She sighs, she slumbers, her white face stares at the sky. She wears the pearls…<\/p>\n