Let's go down to the beach
and make fires of hickory sand
from the driftwood
on the plain of never-ending;
let us catch it there
in the dawn sprinkled with sea-mist tears
and press it close to warm us from without,
let us feel the tide within us
ebb and flow to climax without lasting
and make mudpies out of castles
and havens out of time,
let us catch us there
a starling
and fly it in the sunlight
as the mist enfolds
the dew drops on our hair:
we were happy then
like flies upon the line
and petals in the morning.

07/23/2005

Posted on 07/23/2005
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