Sowbug On A Bowl

Who's to know what I have said? This bit of clockwork in my head
Has no after, no before and knows no more than
Clockwork knows the world.
What I have said: thoughts are compounded ages,
Noises near a cluster of gauges where
Escapement ticks, flywheels whiz, where worry and a bit of business is.
We aren't only curled around a wheel. We are a bigger deal.

April, Point Reyes

Where sun draws all
But silver off it
And wind sends waves
Swimming marbled
Over themselves,
The sea seems an
Impossible idea.

I too am an unlikely thing,
Where a lone crow
Kites over dunes
Cawing our lone note
Into the pull of
Moon and stars.

In the roar, where
All their voices are,
I listen,
Where spray and
Turquoise coils glisten,
One impossible idea
Greets another.