In walking this seashore, I notice I step
through the sand, not so much upon it -
a realization as useless as it is curious.
How much then of this rounded, serious
globe do I inhabit, and is it somehow
taking me in? To my left, if that too
means anything, scattered boats ride
the surface, chained and tethered, as
they are, to stay in place. A tall, strange
order. Absentee ownership, in the case
of a boat, basically means tying it up
while setting it adrift (paradoxical
conundrum, yes), and walking off.
Off? Upon? Atop? - some Earth.