VAST MYSTERIES:
shells rattle on shore
like discarded bones
of ocean,
gulls track haikus across the sand,
limpid jellyfish parachute below the surf,
but always I turn
away.
Flimsy shores crumble beneath the touch
of sea's salty fingers
but my mountains stand.
Black-seamed
folds of earth wear
down under steel
and fire and time.
I'd rather waltz
between locust thorns
than tread across dunes.
Bed me down in honeysuckle,
sleep in the blue
bliss of ancient hills.
"Vast Mysteries." A! Magazine for the Arts, vol. 15, no. 4. (April 2008), on-line.
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