On The Beach

When, at the end of the beach, I turned

to face that gleaming scimitar of strand,

the filigreed waves  hurdling landward,

ripple patterns beneath my feet ,

the scythe of oyster-catchers by the water,

their chevron markings perfect in that light,

I was euphoric in the magnificence of it all?

And as I walked, I felt the completeness of my belonging,

impermanence too like those scarves of sand blowing

ahead of the wind, and not at all sad for that;

recognizing suddenly that transience is the definitive condition;

that the earth unmakes everything, and, in never-ending cycles,

brings it to shine at the edge of the sea.