By the Surf's Edge
By the surf's edge
Where the water nibbles at our toes
We are on life's ledge
Where tides snoring flows
No Columbus will come again
To rescue us with chains
No Hossanah to shout again
With the coming flood of pains
It is a weary cross we wear
An empty pole of hope
In the silence of the tear;
Still not for us the dangling rope.
These are hard times
The bread turns green before
Our feast of sour limes
The center is rotted to the core
The hawk looms above the eye
Its vision is on my sight
Shall I shake the indifferent sky
For more dreams tonight?
How beautiful the death of day
How calm the coming night
How small stars look far away
How vain our raging at the light!
Common sense drips away
Bucket after bucket of logic in decay
We circle the wilderness
Like hawks barbed with bitterness
What did the singer say before he died
Before his last dance
When sleep his last dream denied
"This is it," such resonance
In the words, such finality
Such knowing of the time
The end and certainty
Without that wisdom still sublime
O, the sea is laughing
At the stars, crinkling their faces
The sky is pretending
It's tying shoes laces
Curving away
From cuddling my heart
Aloof, I would say
While things fall apart.
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