Time is graced. G&B 246

hot sun cool May morning__raw aluminum meanders

slick across the mudflats__a trickle of tide in my ears

between hair-splitting bird cries__shallows Basho-praised

under light-shedding clouds__the shit-brown bottom raised

If we make from something, how ‘make’ from nothing, hence how conceive of radical creation. G&B 245

pond brims new shoots__birds play tiny cymbals

bees roam fresh grass__phosphorous blooms symbols

of man’s stupdity__it’s an ant’s world

each self a perspective__pond scum light-pearled

“ . . . the origin, in coming forward, also seems to retreat into its own reserve, as it initimates itself in the signs of things.” G&B 246

too early on Children’s Day__festivities a few hours off

the pond emptying fast__in the absence of birds, enough

blue spaces to count the clouds__over mudflats smeared with cream

and the green of spartina shoots__shadow of a gull’s scream

Far from being captive to the idol, creation shatters all idols. G&B 242

another steel gray day__light rain crinkles the pond

sand pipers dart low__peep peep crossing beyond

the speed they travel at__to the far end I go

where two stand in the shallows__there’s hardly any flow

these peeps jump in place__reversed in reflected light

brighter than the originals__I laugh creation’s insight