The straining stray light out of the stars
dances onto the bay.
Dawn dandles on waves into day.
The dunes fringe marrum-green gold.
The overnight ferry horns the air.
The traffic grows into steady hums of lace.
These comings and goings stir.
An untidy sky makes an untidy sea of
grey, silver, and sun-shaft through a milk horizon.
Time now brews up winds, scatterings and
flousy-tremblings, wave punching wave,
glaucousing, overlapping, swashing.
Then a soft breeze buffs the bay into mirrored silk.
Sand-light lightly calms the air.
The gulls yaw and feather at the shore.
Boy and dog run, stamping, shadowing,
sloughing sand grains on the sand floor and
into this mystery of on-going mind-still.
I gasp at this stitching of the now
And the grasp that I try to sustain of
this thingness, of this now-oneness, of memory, of
a city, a bay, a day
imprinting and imprinted to
assure me this will continue to distill.
Shadows project on double curves
Shapes come into being, and on to my eyes
These eyes shed pearl tears onto
my compound curved cheeks
And these waters falling on these shadows
are for the falling words within our lives
Too bright a life might obscure what is in the shadows
Pearse Murray has had poems and short stories published in a variety of journals, anthologies and on-line sites. He is a native of Dublin, Ireland and lives in upstate New York.
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