Boats on the Water
The boats are on the water
no better than the seaweed washed up on shore
under someone’s wry smile of inevitability.
Boats are on the water, boldly cutting the waves
with a confident air
like someone who thinks they cannot die.
Boats look down on seaweed
but are the same size
without knowing it
because the sea is greater than both by far.
So man looks down on man
in the presence of God.
Sea Death
I skip down to the sea
to look for death
eagerly stooping at every hint of it
half buried in the sand:
a tiny sand dollar’s baby white face
a lady crab’s former tresses ,
and the bleached gnarls of a skeleton tree.
As I rejoice in these treasures—
a Divine gift
bestowed on a peaceful day—
how is it that death gives so much pleasure?
And what joys might perfection grant?
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