Everything Is Connected

I sit listening to the ocean lap as the sun rises from the east,
follow its crawl up the sky from the Pacific Ocean,
squatting here on the rocky shore of Jeju Island in Korea waiting.
I’ve said before, how when I travel, if I’m near water and it’s clean,
I’ll take some in my palm and taste it, wondering always
if any of those molecules were ever a part of me,
if they’re returning, rejoining me after our separation.
The sun’s high enough, the air warm enough now,
and I’m young enough that I can still slip over boulders,
slowly scooting on my rump, my hands and feet a crab’s scuttling.
I come to a crouch at the edge, scoop and sip, my ritual complete.
But then I slip, my whole foot, shoe, sock, and pant leg to my calf,
all of it dunked, a sacrifice to this drink connecting everything.
My reflection laughs up at me for all of this stupidity,
warns that if I keep up this compulsive travel activity,
I may sleep with the fishes that will incorporate large parts of me.

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