The sea
Rocks on the edge.
And the minnows fly
Like vultures in the foam.

She slouches on the sand
Between the sea and forest-land,
Under sheets of rain,
Encumbered by the rudiments of pain.

The Instruments of Heaven,
The Instruments of Heaven,
The lightning keen as skill,
The machines of thunder come.

And silver crabs
Cuddle in the pits of her limbs
Greased by the blasting light
Of the storm.

Struck out of mind
Scurries a hairy star.
And ecstasy like sand
Runs in her neck of glass.

She naps and winks awhile
By the sea and forest-land.
And fair the vultures fly
Like minnows in the sky.

The sea
Is rosy
And immaculate,
Smooth as stone.

Last Modified 8 June 2007
© David Lyttle 1959, 2007