Through its fibrous October
the sun commits
last night's tides'
gifts leftnot, for anyone.
but take them as gifts
you have yourself, ego--permanent self
that cannot fade against
a beach's unruliness.
reflecting
and
haling ex and in
the breadth and beginning of spoils,
ego
ticking off.
--notice that when you handle a stone from the beach
it loses its brightness, it soots itself in your palm,
all you remember is the erasing jaggedness
of the water sheath that once kept the thin else
from the stone's surface.
plaintive, wavery sloth
evoked by slugs in shells.
They pool into cluster communes and lacquerous
families like museum dioramas.
Under alert lids
we little explorers, seeming to have just been babes
lengthen, turn gangly, and ask emptily
about sediment-textures we see,
which unswallow rock and
garb ocean.
where alert questions mark permanence
the ego slips away--
a seal propelling itself through
its salty hugger.
We say, we say we make our
own moments, all of which
we cannot escape.
like your moment of study of
porous curves of
unruly beach stone (in great minuteness gripped),
this sitting steadfast without ego.
Give a propelled love:
From the ego, it is a slum to be dragged
into and assaulted. In the community
that is family, slum is redemption and
smiles.
Watching slugs in shells (thousand clustersClustrd around)
gulls fly multidimensional-like
and take to their lunch, destiny.
