Crabs circumnavigate the globe
On their native rock,
Where the tide foams in from other locales
As a show of force
To move the pink-veined granite
From its outpost,
It's stone claws gripping a surface
Unresolved.
The royal Baja blue makes orphans
Of these cliffs,
Where scrub and blackened cactus
Keep to themselves
And the white-clad people wander
Forsaken hills
Where wounds of ancient water
Linger still.
But they're not alone, beside
The desert of the sea,
Where sky-blue transparencies wriggle
And smile at them,
And even the moon inhabits the sand,
And the company of stars
Lord over them like an alien God
Unknown commands
To be broken at the first snap of wind
Down echoing ravines,
And even that is too much the sound
Of muffled screaming,
Of a million sun-scored opinions,
Each one the same,
The mass, the voice, the uncontained;
What makes me alone.