HUNGER

I have a hunger to taste salt
the bitterness of sea,
to stand alone on some high dune
wind-whipped, exalted by a northeast gale
which screams a rising pitch of wrath
at earth's persistent stubborn stand
to see its racing rows of crested dragon waves
mounting and mouthing land
and, in each brief defeat, bite off
and swallow down another edge of sand
-- and taste the salt.

I have a hunger to taste salt,
to stroll down some familiar street
when in the long, slow afterglow of day
the west wind drops and creeping fog
with cautious silent fingers gropes
along the twisted seaward lanes
before it snuffs out sight and sound
enfolding in gray pewtered globes
the feeble streetlights of the town
confusing mind and ways
-- and taste the salt.

I have a hunger to taste salt,
to view the blue advance of tide
match strength with fast escaping river water
the sea assaulting with high bannered spume
then slipping back to gather force
in slick black undulating wallows,
To walk once more at night
along the barricading bar and watch,
beyond the flattened inner bay
the twinkling lights of one small town
outshine the shining distant stars
-- and taste the salt.