. . . where the north Atlantic curls around sandspit
and salts the freshwater,
I walk, thigh-deep: I am almost falling.
I balance on a sharp promontory
as the parabolic wave advances.
I rest with the heron, standing in reeds;
with the three turtles, immobile on a stone.
Do you see that unpeopled strand in the distance,
beyond the estuary,
and the sanderlings darting in the shallowest waves?
I dart among them.
Look down, to where teaberry flowers
and chanterelles scatter their numberless spores.
I think you have missed me, tasting there.
The thump of the woodpecker,
the brash articulation of the chipmunk:
aren’t they comical?
Perhaps they receive our human laughter.
The sand is warm where I lay my towel,
the loam under the leaves, a pliancy.
Let me doze a while.
Then I will wade deeper; I’ll take an untrammeled trail.
Will you come?
The moon will eclipse tonight
and glow dimly with fire-orange light.
Together we may look beyond it, into the galaxy,
into a torrent of momentary stars.
This poem first appeared in Earthly Use: New and Selected Poems.
—
Kate Bernadette Benedict, of Riverdale, New York, is a widely published poet and a former book and journal editor. The Rachel Carson Nature Preserve in Wells, Maine, inspired this particular poem. Her collection, Earthly Use, is available on Amazon.
