ON THE EDGE
Early morning on the beach
the ocean has made delicate patterns in the sand
and carved pits and mounds, and sweeping valleys .
Across it all is imprinted
a landscape of foot prints large and small—
a child’s bare foot, perfect toes, sole patterns of myriad shoes
bird feet, dog feet, bike tracks, and even the tracks of a car.
It is as if a whole city has cast its footprint here on the shore–
fleeing from heat, from fire and smoke, from fear and disease.
It is difficult walking through it all.
And I wonder–
did they, for a moment, hear the ocean’s voice
this morning a gentle roar beating against the shore
“There is nowhere to go. Nowhere to go…”
Then little Hendrix, the Beagle, comes trotting along
I offer her a treat
She tips her head in gratitude.
And I walk on knowing
a new sweep of wave and sand
and we begin all over again.