Sea Legs

Why hasn't the sea got legs when it hurdles

my senses with such consumate ease

in playful reminder of our primordial heritage

touching the very essence of our beginnings? 

Why hasn't the sea got legs when it dances

and shimmies and beguiles so effortlessly 

luring me trance-like into perpetual haze

stroking my mind into aqueous bewilderment?

I return hopefully in search of the answers 

that float coyly beneath the surface 

bathing me in diaphanous whispers and

teasing me with the sounds of not knowing

Why hasn't the sea got legs when it strides across my senses

and taunts me with such blissful innocence 

treading gently on the very nature of our connection

softly whispering its familiar secrets

I listen by the edge where the murmurs begin and end

where riddles fold over themselves and hiss 

onto the glistening shore as if their very constancy 

creates meaning in itself

And then suddenly my patience is rewarded

when the sounds of not knowing gently meld 

into an understanding that legs are there to be found 

by those engaged in much more turbulent encounter