Note: The Sea Grinds Things Up
It’s going on now
as these words appear
to you or are heard by you.
A wave slaps down, flat,
Water runs up the beach,
then wheels and slides back down, leaving a ridge
of sea-foam, weed, and shells.
One thinks: I must
break out of this
horrible cycle, but
the ocean doesn’t; it
continues through the thought.
A wave breaks, some
of its water runs up
the beach and down
again, leaving a ridge
of scum and skeletal debris.
One thinks: I must break out of this
cycle of life and death,
but the ocean doesn’t; it
goes past the thought.
A wave breaks on the sand,
water planes up the beach
and wheels back down,
hissing and leaving a ridge
of anything it can leave.
One thinks: I must
run out the life
part of this cycle
then the death part
of this cycle
after the last word,
but this is not the last
word unless you think
of this cycle as some
perpetual inventory
of the sea. Remember:
this is just one sea
on one beach on one
planet in one
solar system in one
galaxy. After that
the scale increases,
so this is not the last word,
and nothing else is talking back.
It’s a lonely situation.
—Alan Dugan, 1983