Carlos A.
Angeles
The battering
restlessness of the sea
Insists a tidal
fury upon the beach
At Gabu, and its
pure consistency
Havocs the
wasteland hard within its reach.
Brutal the
daylong bashing of its heart
Against the
seascape where, for miles around,
Farther than
sight itself, the rock-stones part
And drop into
the elemental wound.
The waste of
centuries is grey and dead
And neutral
where the sea has beached its brine,
Where the split
salt of its heart lies spread
Among the dark
habiliments of Time.
The vital
splendor misses. For here, here
At Gabu where
the ageless tide recurs
All things
forfeited are most loved and dear.
It is the sea
pursues a habit of shores.
