Semiosis of Winter Beach Day 6-8

Day 6

Some people (who?) build towers,

Some (who?) build castles, and

Some (who?) build bridges.

Children build castles of sand

With shovels and buckets and

Quick trips to water with

Joy to compose and delight

To destroy. Ebbing and flowing

In diurnal play.

Some (who?) build towers,

Finding sturdy stone platforms,

And hooks to set on

Rounded necks reaching up and up,

To peak or to balance.

Some (who?) desire bridges most,

And they see at once the space

Of air between, and the

Question once asked and never

Answered. They span the

Question and the demand

Of gravity with imagination first,

Grace second, and then, at last,

Stone.

Castles beg destruction;

Towers demand attention;

Bridges soar with purpose.

Day 7

Bright blue sky, bright winter coats, brisk walkers, many gifts.

Today I found a stone topographical map the size of a quarter.

It marks the winding path to the center of the earth. 

It can be read with eyes, when the light is soft and diffuse, or with fingers when the light may be too bright or too dim. 

Fingers find the way. 

Fingers note the winding path, the many levels of careful ledges winding around and toward 

the off-center island where row upon row of amphitheater shelves gaze upon the wonder. 

Follow or don’t follow, but hold the map dear for future folly or fortune.

In addition to the topographical map, a key came to me today. 

I have the map and I have the key. 

The key wears disguises: a tooth from a large mammal, a hand-held gun 

for a mouse-sized appendage, or simply 

the key to a chest or door opening to enchantment or terror. 

I will choose enchantment today. 

It is the key to the fluctuating room above--but not far above--our heads, 

of the small birds who delight in flinging themselves in the winds, 

but need a resting place now and then.

Day 8

Today’s ocean is green.

With a sound like a

Sweet fog horn, not

Quite a whistle.

Looking for signs,

Markers, maps,

All I see are dog prints

Lapping every which way,

over and under one another.

But a few stone signals

Lift from tide-flattened

Sand to signal me.

Here’s an ominous skull,

That’s not for me.

Here are the eggs

I was seeking a few days ago.

And here is a dark stone

With two white ribbons, circling.

One is a crown,

And the other a noose.

That’s my message

For today as I

Suppress the bile in

My throat, the anger, the tears:

The crown and the noose are

One and the same.

Green whistling ocean, what

Question do you have for me:

What does the sky look like

Before a rainbow?