When, at the end of the beach, I turned
to face that gleaming scimitar of strand,
the filigreed waves hurdling landward,
the geode patterns beneath my feet,
a scythe of 12 oyster-catchers by the water,
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 those 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.