I sit in room 302 of the Marquis de Lafayette,
watch the ocean waves unwavering crawl to the shore,
clawing channels through the starving sand.
Relentless, restless sea swallows the beach
piece by inevitable piece,
spits bits of shells and glass to mark the return journey.

Sea gulls banter in ancient tongue,
soar across sky,
float on air,
hop through mist,
as if suspended by invisible strings
manipulated by a marionette.

Two cracks of sun sift through foreboding dark clouds.
In patches of prism, epilates of color vibrate like
two eyes staring from the womb to the light.
A slice of red and yellow horizon
lifts the early morning darkness.
I am certain that this is Heaven.

I want to wrap my arms around this moment,
recall the warmth I feel.
the love in my heart for the woman
that sleeps in the next room.
the twittering that captures imagination,
the absolute knowledge that there is God,
Cause the world cannot spin by itself.

Now the sky opens wide,
singes the clouds into vapor.
The palette is crystal and gold,
glitters like an escaped diamond.

Woodstock, New York
May 8, 2004

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