6805. TYING THE SHORE-LINE AND STANDING UP STRAIGHT

TYING THE SHORE-LINE AND 

STANDING UP STRAIGHT

Like long-life to a mystical man, the strenuous

limit of day after day can be stretched forever.

We need do nothing but live and live on. Here,

by the water's dappling edge, ten or twelve boats

are docked and rocking  -  water and tide rising one

moment and falling the next. It appears there is no

one present anywhere, and the boats are untended.

-

Which is a pleasant matter  -  enabling me to just

watch and enjoy. The movement, the flow, the enabling

thrust of the ocean and swell. Why have it all mussed by 

people  -  I figure  -  with their beers and sodas and loaves

of shoreline bread. Children who wail and bawl about things,

mothers who prance and the fathers who dance  -  landsmen

each, with only a pretense of seamanship. A waste, truly,

and I'm glad they're not here. I can smile.

-

The way a wearer wears the bathing suit, the cut of a flagrant

seam, the buttock of woman's width, all these things, I've seen.

The modern angel of days and time no longer holds out surprises

for me  -  yet still, I don't plead for these things and would rather

not see. I get tired, of people, and would rather not see. I grow weary

of things, yet they persist to be. Ah, sunflower, weary of time....