Yacquina Head , 1804

I’ve waited for low tide to reach this good mussel bed.
With an ear toward the turning tide,
I fill my basket quickly with the best the rocks have to offer,
Then pause in my usefulness to listen.

Gulls stride darkwet rocks,
Seaweeds ride small waves working
Their way up and over tide pools.
On an offshore haystack a bloated sea lion
grumps low in its shallow sleep, hoping to give birth soon.
Black cormorants stand stonebound,
Holding their diving-damp wings open to the wind,
As the sun warms the sky, dissolving faint clouds.
The musselbound sea pillows steam
With flavors of seaweed and saltwater.
Creaking, the cobbled black rock rolls under my feet,
Rock voices caught here for countless ages
Groan down deep within the beach as they
Tumble each other smooth, shining, one like another.

All is going on going on, as it should,
World without end.