On The Beach

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.