Beyond the Coast
The rock divides the water from the foam.
Watch the tides draw in,
the fall of waves begin.
Tells me world does not need me here at all.
I will find my kin
in my coat of scale and fin.
And where was I then when I was not here?
On a summer noon,
reason remains in tune.
Wonder who walked that far to erect that sign?
A lone wooden post
points beyond the coast.
To always attend to what is could cause a strain.
You know you were gone
when you are back again.
To hear what is rare is what we desire.
I know what is good,
cuckoo calls from a wood.
Slumber now and you may not see the dawn,
hear the cry of birds,
drone of a mountain temple horn.
Who can you trust when world is on the wane?
A solo saxophone
blows circles round a cone.
We’re part of the pattern we help to stitch,
but how does a newspaper horoscope
relate to a tramp who lives in a ditch?