The Great Deep Black

From far away lands
You can hear the calls of shorebirds,
Stringing themselves over the great deep black
And crying for the gods to come out and play.
Do they, I wonder?
And these gods that speak to birds
And whisper into the ears of the dying
To have faith in the painlessness of sleep
Must have play to keep themselves sane.
The rolling of the waves can only do so much -
Lull one to sleep, perhaps,
But one must be careful not to wade too far in.
For in the great deep black there is a consciousness
Born of lost souls -
And wishes -
And the unwanted -
And one must believe that these souls too want to play
Like their sisters above the waves,
Floating on a breeze,
Past the time when night succumbs
To the lazy sexuality of dawn,
Who smiles
As the moon rushes past with a blush.