Southward Pilgrims
San Felipe, Mexico was a church for us,
we two non-religious travellers in the hurtling blue car
the moment of beatitude, nothing sweeter than arrival
our flight into the sticky arms of coastal air
the holy ocean kissing the mountain's foot
the purification of the heat, the crazy pelicans
these are the markers of our pilgrimage
these were the blessings in the cups of our days
this is it, the love of the green ocean
blasted mountains sere, unbending
coming home to forever at last
the slide of time over and over the fine sand
there, my seawater veins rocked this heart into motion
the curl and turn of the tide was the blood's music
everywhere the rhythm of the salt, the stones, the stars
everywhere the voice of the chameleon sky
and out beyond the surge and sift
suspended in a symphony, the grey whales slept
themselves all praise and grace, weightless,
dreaming of the upward turn to the light
