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.