Inspiration

 

On a dugout drifting down a lonely creek

evening is neither leaving nor becoming,

the sun merely sunning

its draft of light

 

Along the shore, the turrids lie broken;

washed up sounds still

speak of water

 

Spirals uncoil, dormant voices call

join land to ocean, lost in the rise

and fall: hope and bits of polyp

toss

and yearn, turned

by the tide, that lungs

and lips, corals

and branches—

 

Collapses

and fills

the inner ear

of the urchin orb

 

Giant clams

slowly open

and close, mouth

tranquil flow

 

Beached veins of the blue-

bottle jellyfish still drift,

stinging there is

                life after all this

 

The shale and shingle sits

and shifts, split by itself—it comes

and goes, suns

and sings of one motion

 

Water draws in

and out, lifts and lulls,

rolls onwards

and uncurls like rhythm

building breaking con-

tinuing this landscape

and language

of breath

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