When, at the end of the beach, I turned
to face that gleaming scimitar of strand,
the filigreed waves racing to land,
the geode patterns beneath my feet,
the scythe of 12 oyster catchers close-by,
their chevron markings perfect in that light,
I felt, suddenly, the glory of creation.
And, as I walked, I felt the completeness of my belonging,
and my impermanence, like the scarves of sand blowing
ahead of the wind, and not at all sad for that;
and seeing too that beliefs are transitory,
that the earth will swallow all and shine on
when all else has run its course.