A War As Old As Water

A War As Old As Water (for paul verdun altvater)
 
 
the great blueness begins to rise 
taking a deep breath 
preparing to throw itself at the Sand
as the swell becomes more pronounced 
the wave-top begins moving faster than the bottom
transforming what appeared as a blue hill
into a fluidly translucent blue-green wall
 
a hairy clump of kelp
drawn upward as the wave begins to crest
appears to be suspended in space 
as the frozen moment thaws
the ball of tangled strands is freed
looking for all the world 
like the head of some Atlantean Medusa
whose gaze turns to stone not flesh, but time
 
the blue-greeness tumbles 
into foamy white chaos
while roaring its disapproval 
with a voice that finally fades into a pleading hiss
which calls for the water to retreat 
so it slips back upon itself 
leaving the Sand smooth and (if the bits of glass and bottlecaps are ignored) pristine
 
the shore appears renewed 
by the joyous rushing up 
and the burdened slipping away
heavy with footprints and sandcastles
that no longer solely mark a person's presence or passage 
chased as if they were pieces-of-eight 
and not the worthless spoils of a war as old as water
 
the succession of waves
becomes a parade of invading armies
that are sacrificed to the foamy whiteness
which is all that remains of the Sea's rage
at losing yet another skirmish in an endless battle
waged by water against the boundaries imposed by the shore
 
it is the Sand
that stuff whose grainy passivity
serves to provide an acceptable illusion
that dares the Sea to dump its anger
that silently conceals reality 
while covering up forever
the true nature of the Sea and its containment
and smothering all that is left of the world 
until finally there are no distractions
 
there is just the Sea
and there is only the Sand 
and of course, a war as old as water
 
 
(i am the Sand)
 
(C)1993 chas altvater 20 September, 1992 
A War As Old As Water (for paul verdun altvater)
 
 

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