your own planet

the poetry of dr zen

Sunday, February 16, 2003

Across the beach

Across the beach
the remains of a lost boat
scattered pieces of wood

Feet in the tar
a slow walk home
I wonder
how will I scrape it

There are slates
in the road
by our house

and the sound of sea
never ceasing

waking
the wind has dropped
a bird is walking
across the roof

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