photo by Jude Nagurney Camwell
Now, in this waning of light
I rock with the motion of morning.
In the cradle of all that is,
I’m lulled into half sleep
By the lapping of waves,
The cries of the sandpiper.
Water’s my will and my way,
And the spirit runs, intermittently,
In and out of the small waves,
Runs with the intrepid shore birds —
How graceful the small before danger!
In the first of the moon,
All’s a scattering,
A shining.
- Theodore Roethke
Part IV of Meditation at Oyster River