The Children Wait On the Shore

the children wait on the shore eyes fastened to the horizon behind them stand the women with a gaze far more serious all impervious to rain and wind the hurricane had turned inland last night it was moving north to Baja the fishermen left with ease it would soon be gone yet, early in the morning, it moved east to Nayarit chaotic nature, in the end reigns supreme, it always has in the distance dots appear, fishermen driven home as the storm rages over them children and women frantically search the returning pongas for any familiarity as the fishermen struggle valiantly in the waves tonight some prayers are bearing fruition while others were lost to an angry sea a storm none could predict nor ever will with certainty the candles burn at the feet of the dead now plaster saints, imploring continues long into the night, a chance of perchance that bird that sings in the worst gale morning brings the tolling of church bells amidst the devastation faces who will never forget that chaos has no favorites only illusions, as matter, may well be, Berkeley rocks the luck of the draw, despite Darwins' wishful design the ensuing fluctuating schemes of pandemonium desultory forces who at best are deficit in reason or are they, who knows the breadth of creation a constant reminder, the precarious hold life has how delicate the day we the biota share how precious life is i learned that long ago from a little tippler leaning on a dying sun toasting with manzanilla the heavens above cursing some matelot beneath her labored breath now the nobody we all are when the light extinguishes receding within into singularity and whatever wormhole we exit will never matter nor the dimensions therein gone, as the smoke from an extinguished candle escaping forever into the entropy where matter never perishes Fergus Falls 96 The Patient Stones how often in my writing i see Emily Dickinson appear....i have often fantasized about pursuing her heart