A Poem a Day (584): Hatchlings

Hatchlings
 
Surf rises, the severed sun sets,
seagulls holler on the updraft,
looping and diving, circling out
in this cerulean blue-violet haze.
 
The sea draws in and drags out
in even motion, an idyllic dance
led by an invisible hand. Curving
and carving. Stripy shells wash in.
 
Turtles launch from split-open eggs,
flippers floundering, beating the casing,
their instinct routing them like arrows
to water, away from snapping beaks.
 
We appear as footprints softly sinking,
this squishy ooze sticking to our heels,
and we feel ourselves disappearing in,
our souls fed by the grounding.
 
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, May 11, 2023