Poems ✍️

I TOOK away three pictures.
One was a white gull forming a half-mile arch from the pines toward Waukegan.
One was a whistle in the little sandhills, a bird crying either to the sunset gone or
the dusk come.
One was three spotted waterbirds, zigzagging, cutting scrolls and jags, writing a
bird Sanscrit of wing points, half over the sand, half over the water, a half-love
for the sea, a half-love for the land.
I took away three thoughts.
One was a thing my people call 'love,' a shut-in river hunting the sea, breaking
white falls between tall clefs of hill country.
One was a thing my people call 'silence,' the wind running over the butter faced
sand-flowers, running over the sea, and never heard of again.
One was a thing my people call 'death,' neither a whistle in the little sandhills,
nor a bird Sanscrit of wing points, yet a coat all the stars and seas have worn,
yet a face the beach wears between sunset and dusk.