Paths

Crushing in my hand The bay as I pass, Drinking in its fragrance With the sea's scent, While gull-wings write Poems white and fast On the blue sky That is soft with content; Crushing in my hand The bay and the juniper, While I record Each line the gulls write, I go by sea paths Down to the sea's edge, I go by heart paths Deep into delight.

Simple is my joy As the little sandpiper's, Who follows beside me With silvery song; Blither than the breeze, That skims great billows Nor knows how deep Is their flow--or strong. Simple is my joy, A sunny sense-sweetness, Full of bird-bliss, Bay-warmth, spray-leap. Mysteries there are And miseries beneath it, But sunk, like wrecks, Far down in the deep.