Easily Perfected

what trouble could it be? we've trooped across
sand dunes before. out of the wind for the nonce,
beyond the sound of the ocean. just gorgeous sand,
our cousins. the expanse has special meaning tho I
don't know what it is. I just know that walking
along -- not alone, primed by stars -- has filled
me. what more to say? there are poems written
everyday, workers for some cause, strident
luminaries choosing to perform their duties on a
squishy piece of land. we decided to walk in the
blaring sun, burning our feet, thinking this is a
hidden cove of delight. we'll top a dune and see
the sea, of course we will. the breeze will smell
sweet and wešll be drawn to the water. we'll call
this a dance because we love the word. the ocean
is a messy thing, with too many details spread all
over, but look at the boats and birds and down
that stretch of beach there is one person, maybe
two, creating a personal landscape. following our
lead, no doubt. this is a gas, a strange new fund.
I love this picturesque curiosity that launches
our imagination so dynamically and intrinsically.
we could swim or walk along, we could lay on the
sand and soak in the fierce sunlight. let us
underline such points later. we would never have
invented chance, more taken with finding it, like
we find shells and bits of rock buffed by the
forces to become gems of the finest taking.
nothing strange in that idea, really, that what we
might treasure could be so easily found. this is
just a pleasure, could as easily be yesterday's
hayfield or a brisk coffee shop where black
flighty coffee pulls us into green conversation
and red love. if I were a painter, this would be
the work of hours but I'm just squeezing the
formulations out like needed tears come, with
force and fear. there is nothing to fear, now or
ever. we have had words and a brush with
extinction. now we just take our time as our time
takes us. does this all sound sad? I think it very