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.

    haling ex and in
the breadth and beginning of spoils,
    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

Watching slugs in shells (thousand clustersClustrd around)
gulls fly multidimensional-like
and take to their lunch, destiny.

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