There was a Child went forth every day:
And the first object [she] look’d upon, that object [she] became:
And that object became part of her for the day, or a certain part of the day, or for many years, or stretching cycles of years.
These kites set me free
that day on the beach,
taking away the heartache from those past eight months.
carried off somewhere
(heartache lifted on ribboned tails and crepe paper)
These kites —
even now –
trace the border of my shadow’s horizon
 Whitman, Walt. “A Child Went Forth,” Leaves of Grass. Philadelphia: David McKay, [c1900]
drifted in resiliency,
ebbing and flowing
(did they despair in not knowing why?)
until finding rest one on top the other.
just as they existed in the ocean —
of course they were –
(sometimes resting, tumbling
have faith in the motion.
in virtuous dignity,
terrified his enemies.
His limp protested the survival of the fittest
(seagulls don’t read Darwin)
while perfect in flight,
his poise disguised his disadvantage
(they dared not take advantage)
limp or fly,
is faith’s hold on me,
my hold on faith.
(Catalina Island seen, clear days only)
The beach’s horizon held a mystery,
as a child,
an island (I was told).
Magic I never saw.
The clouds burned
and I saw it –
Hidden no longer, I cried.
The hurrying tumbling waves, quick-broken crests, slapping,
The strata of color’d clouds, the long bar of maroon-tint, away solitary by itself—the spread of purity it lies motionless in,
The horizon’s edge, the flying sea-crow, the fragrance of salt marsh and shore mud;
These became part of that child who went forth every day, and who now goes, and will always go forth every day.
Catalina Island ©Julie Anderson All Rights Reserved