Pentacle de la Mere

[Sitaram]

When I was young
I first reclined
Among the clustered shells and weed and living brine.

I felt the rhythmic swells
As first they fell upon my thighs.
Fall, recede,
They fall, recede,
As always rhythms
Fall, recede;
"To fill a need",
"To fill a need",
Accompanied, as all,
By restless sighs.

I felt, within the din of sand and surf,
The sin of tide and wind in mistful birth,
Erecting beads of skin in wistful mirth.
I, the sun, the sea, were one;
The soothing, moving sea.

Sifting sand upon my toes
In drifting, merging, urging lows,
As grains of sand, desire grows,
Until a ripple flows
And throws it free.
And then I know I have the sea,
I know the sea has me,
I know;
My subtle, supple sea.

Four loves have I,
The first of three,
The earth, the sun, the sky.
But one and only one has me;
My sounding,
Pounding
Sea.

- Sitaram
(circa 1965)