As the sea rocks up and down
On the empty shore,
Below the little sandy cliffs;
As my wife rocks to and fro
In her white, knotted hammock
On the veranda,
I stare into the ocean depths
Amongst the clear waters
To observe a small spiral shell,
Or a forked fragment of broken coral…
And contemplate the nature
Of time…
Realising that a century
Is a long span
In the affairs of men;
A half-century not much less.
True, my ancestors
Of the distant past
Would recognise these artefacts,
Fruits of the sea,
Just as they would
The island across
The narrow straight,
With its complex of hills and folds,
Valleys and depressions,
Shadows and tricks of the light…
So that there is uniformity, conservation,
Continuity…
Even though, of course,
The greater world beyond
Has changed radically, -
Almost beyond reason.
Then I realise that even this
View may be wrong.
That perhaps the shells have slightly changed;
The coral sticks are different;
The island is not the same.
Through my eyes, everything
Is transformed and that
I only assume these small uniformities to be so;
To have always had identity.
The Earth is a dynamic place; it evolves,
Nothing stays.
All ebbs and flows, rocks and goes, and moves on,
Sometimes quickly.
The strange and various dinosaurs
Had their day.
But what of the pelicans, the dolphins now,
Us, the shells and corals?
Caught up in the motion of the stars
That swirl…and laugh
Down the ages
Of eternity,
Without emotion…
A hysterical laugh…
Greatly enjoyed.
Only its theme is serious.
