there's a guy who stands
solitary on a beach and
the dreadful thing is
it's not so much that he
approaches the water
as the water inches
closer to his toes
his feet are blocks of
dried and dull cement
the sand long since like an
antswarm has been
devouring his feet
the sand is a fact
he is a grain of sand
abraham's sand
but even facts can be effaced
and the comfortable order upheaved
by the geist of change
the facts of sand in the horizon of his vision
are gone and eaten up
with greater velocity than
the sand had earlier concerning his feet
and the fluctus aequoris
begin to reveal their threat
the old japanese painting
of the monster tidalwave
and inside the guy
the germs of fear
and of despair
and of seasickness crack
open and
open and
open and
out shrieks suffusing rapidly
the nauseating burden of
responsibility
but there is such a rider who
the foamy horses of the sea
who on the backs leviathan
in easy calm yet glorious rides
and of the man's dead feet shall be
reviver not of feet alone
but of each sinew and the wave
of change himself does spur not for
a drowning void of meaning but a
death and undeath into life
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