waking

some of you may have seen this in an earlier stage, but the revisions have been considerable. i like to call it "waking." i feel a bit premature posting it as it now is, but, here goes:

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in the morning
when you wake
from stillness
i walk
through garden
and wood
and ruin
i stride
by stream
flowing full
by trunks of trees
and fruit
left to slumberers
who listen
to the swinging swaying
songs of yesterdaying
wishing
of would be sailors
who would
otherwise be
dirge players
or star gazers
in the morning
when memory is clear
of moments unmeant to stay
on the rhythmic growing gongs
of the bleating waves
on the sand
with closed eye
on the ocean
from the shore
i sit
and continue my adoration
watching the sea
overtake me