In the city
where my other life plays out,
I am harried
with each day’s blunt obligations.
Too many tentacles of place, position,
other people’s expectations—
Too many weeks since I have fed the hunger of my spirit.
I need the beach.
observe the interplay, the fluid panorama—
bird, wave, wind, cloud, marsh
in a world that doesn’t need me.
I need to focus on the gulls,
their forsaken cry,
wings slow-motioning above me,
for a space to rest among the waves...
I need to look up at the clouds,
spired cities, mountains,
pink and gold, watch them
cluster, climb, collapse, diffuse.
Sometimes, raging buffaloes
in gray and white
charge the high sky
and curling serpents,
fangs trailing into distant ocean,
move across my view and disappear...
I need to concentrate
on waving marshgrass,
musing at the constant welcome change
the seasons bring:
greenstemmed in April,
alive with nesting birds and crawling things;
lush in July, deer in silhouette
against hardwoods at marsh edge;
tawny topaz in October as leaves change,
then, in January, storm-bowed, silent,
sere blond, flat-patterned, snow-powdered.
In the city,
where I spend most of my time,
I am sustained by imagery—
bird, wave, wind, cloud, marsh.
I am sustained...