Running the Beach

Running the beach in the morning
Running barefoot over wet sand,
Leaving my footprints behind me
The legacy of sand and sea
Risen afresh from the waters
Out of the ocean, out of the eternal waves.

Running alone by the great sea
Watching the red fire lifting
Ponderously slow it arises
Watching the sky-doors open
The business of day is beginning
Out of the ocean, out of the eternal waves

And the day is coming
And my legs are aching
And my breath comes bursting
And my lungs are filling
As my head is clearing
And my pulse is quickening
And the gulls are soaring
And the fire is boiling
And my soul is lifting
Out of the ocean, out of the eternal waves.

A Murder of Crows

A murder of crows

Black birds in a cream colored sky
Black birds hovering over bare branches
Bare branches slanting upward
In a scream, in a spear-filled sky,

Black birds bear the omens
Black crows tell the tale
That should never be told
That should forever be conceales

And the crows are mindless
Of the terror they bring
Or the sounding they make
That makes all courage die.

Sand Painting

Sitting sideways on stone
He pushed a single pebble into place
With tip a bamboo reed a rose red grain
And the pattern was complete
The picture whole ,breathtaking splendor
Finished to the last errant grain.
After eighteen years since he began
When his knees did not hurt so much
When the chill of stone was not so much
Eighteen years, eighteen hours every day
Looking at swollen knuckles on a hand
so cramped he could barely hold the reed.
In his robe unsuited for the cold
With his eyes unaccustomed to the day
From his years of squinting he looked up
At last he saw it, the thing which he had made
Admiring the perfection of the thing
Stretched across the floor, and it was good
And then, perfection being achieved
He took his broom and swept it away
Lest someone try to preserve it.
For all we do is mortal
And perfection not a thing accomplished
But the thrill of a moment of perfection.