Meditation on the Shore at Dusk
in and out of a hand-
dug moat like a river
too full of a storm’s
grace. The water meets the castle’s
side and shrinks it—
ages it.
The castle crumbles
and is enlightened—
masonry, tapestries, armory
back to sand again. Eyes
shut I hear
the sea throw itself
on the beach
like a lover
against an oak box—a thought
I must erode.
I give my ears
to the quartet
of black-white gulls quarreling
over the contents of an abandoned plastic bag.
I open my eyes.
The sun is past.
The moon is present—
an arced catharsis, an amputating
knife.