Vacation Poem 4

[dervishspin]

Briefly this afternoon
I forgot that I existed.
In a sunlit cove I did not witness the shoreline
as much as I became it.
The rocks were quietly talking, the ocean
was polishing what it could touch with it's caresses.
A plover ran on tiny feet after the crabs.
The water from last night's rain
trickling through roots and moss,
finding it's way, as all water does
to the sea.

So it was a surprise
to find I had hands;
feet that made the rocks groan
and windblown hair that teased
the back of a neck
which turned out to be mine.

In the moment of my remembrance
I was struck with the certainty
that if I lived, so someday I must tackle the process of dying.
It seemed like such a bother
to spend anytime at all in an anxiety of future loss.

It seemed simpler to be the rainwater, the shoreline,
the crabs inching away from the plover,
the stones turning gently into sand.