In Recognition of Deeper Things

I have journeyed here to see,
Not to be lost idly
In my own thoughts.
Red-shouldered hawks
Whistle; my eye,
Like an oar, locks
On a dwindling shore.
Water is a long poem
Whose waves scan these rocks
Where man is a shadow,
Where man is nothing,
His great works nothing.
Here is a mealy bug,
Oyster shell scale,
Bone splinters
Though nobody knows
How the bones say.
We are God’s spittle,
Quick to sense loss
Who have nothing.
Signs on half these beaches say
No Trespassing.
Each year the poor have less,
One less beach to offend,
Men have built their fence
About the world,
Have set a latch upon it.
Palaces do not last.
Why should these signs last?
How they flutter & tatter.
Here is dull whistling
Where Bay turns to terrible mock.
Chug, chug, chug, chug.
What is the sea pushing?
Dead leaves
With water beetle’s eggs,
Fiddler crabs
Over the sand like maniac marbles,
When far behind me
Wind thru the bell wort
Raises a hymn to tiny ears,
A dram of spirit
Sitting down on the margin.