foreign shore

i walked upon the coarse beach sand

while the wet air,

its cold folds of stinging bit

the ears and face of my head

it mixed with the sun’s heat

which eased the burn

my walk was a long one

my legs weary,

maintained their stride no less

because i cared not one whit to stay

away

away from that which pressed

hard on my back

the peninsula was long

upon which the cliffs stood

i made for them

though i’d walked for hours

they stayed elusive

eventually i’d near them enough

to stand upon them

to let the basalt

the limestone and the ancient volcanic mix

of rocks

and reef

i’d let the brew of salt and algae,

with the smell of fish

fresh and clean,

with seaweed

i’d let them lift me

and allow the sound of the roar

the increasing roar

of the incoming tide

the rising of the sea

i’d let them carry me back

away from here

to the furthest shore from which i came

back to the iberian peninsula

i don’t belong here

a spanish galleon lies at the bottom of the reef

it’s there i feel

by the whispering ghosts

whose spirits rose

from the depths

to meet my call of escape

transformed my thoughts to the coming sails

replaced by the sailing skiff

that i will board

that will take me tomorrow

when i meet

with the land i’ve searched for since i was born

i’ll let it carry me back to from where i came

and rest my tired head on the shores of spain

in the shadow of a castle that holds the bones

of my fathers’ fathers

i’ll forget the shallow words and feeble gaze

of the ones who despise me for the sake of nothing

i’ll forget the ones who’ve forgotten their own past

i’ll forget their shallow words and feeble gaze

and lose myself in the heritage

of the depth of my own past

and theirs which they have willingly forsaken

upon which rests my destiny there

somewhere within the folds of gibraltar

and for the rest of what is left of eternity