WATERGLASSING
From the ocean I beached
Onto heated gneiss and stood
Next to a waterglass glistening.
I, also, reclined in the groove
Of the stone and, too, had the
Interest of the world on all sides.
The languid waves, residual salt—
Listening before each break,
Were working to tip this edge over.
And leaning back on my hands,
I listened, too, before each break,
For open-faced sandwiches.
The wash and lull told me.
And as I darkened, I needed nothing.
That easily, I forgot my name.
TRANSFER IN A BUSY STATION
Seconds pass as people do
each in their own direction
each in a way of mine
In my own way, I am still
getting to the platform
it will take a while
I look around them
lean and stretch to see
the cool green light
I don’t think I will make it to the train in time
A COOL GLASS OF WATER
The thirst it has taken
For the grace it gives
Faith is the end
To which I stake all this
