As it pours incessant tide on the shore
Translucent as batter, with openings for breath
In the smooth finish wrought out of brows rough
With thought, each one sealed with a bolt of lace.
Such a long way have the sun and moon contended
On this rolling sphere of contemplation,
Tossing ideas like ships here and there,
Trying to keep them on course, their strategems,
That divide into broad, brilliant lines.
The gulls glide by, they are somewhere between
Watching and being a part. The sounds they make
Are returns of what is inferred in the roar.
Aroused gusts rub the belly of the sea,
Where scintillate light pulsates to be received.
Nothing dies in the absence of what replies.
The sun runs right through the glowing bathers.
The umbrellas are scruffed by the wind.
The girls in the surf with the pink hula hoops
Are drawing men's eyes in like sirens.
