RITE OF PASSAGE

I
Once the green ocean has sieved
through your entrails, washing away
civilization's debris and heaving you up,
panting onto these hot stones,
you hold on for dear life, thanking
an unknown something or someone.

II
What survives? Building plans for northern
suns, shy seedlings, our words
inflecting and slanting with the
strange gravity of the south,
snatched away by winds descending
like giants from the mountains

III
to throw you back into the sea
that brought you. So you hug
and love this warm land,
treasuring every first step,
as those do who have tasted the salt water
and ridden on its restless back.

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