Never mind what the surf looks like;
Why do we try to describe it,
What everyone can recognize
But no one comprehends?
(Just walk along the muddy shoals,
the effervescing froth drawing in
lace curtains
in a sibilant crashing).
Trying to catch it,
To remember,
Our feet sink into the loam,
Our tread upsets the perfect rolling curve
Of wave...
But such tensions are
Quickly brushed away.
This sea on one side,
The gulls — who look on us only as a source of food —
On the other, and, in between, us
Speaking, acting, believing to be noticed,
Remembered.
