step by step,
the heron enters
the shallows:
erect, adagio,
in rigid concentration:
to stab suddenly and swallow
a flash of glitter.

Imprinting the sand’s domain
of stillness and shimmer,
its steps echo
the stamp of peace,
as crisp as frost
perplexed on glass
to window winter.

A wash of watercolor
brushes the paper with not sky,
but the lazuli of heaven,
a haze of reverence
serenely floating
the lifted frankincense
and air of evening.

Time, overwriting
the dead history of ink,
inscribes in stringent salt
the scattered shore
of shell and elegy,
of hull, keel, skull.
Read the nameless sand.

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