December 30, 2017
On these beaches, sun burns
Through the seagrape leaves
In pinpoints like strung lights, which turn
The bushes into Christmas trees,
As if sand were snow, and the shower
Of the spray an ice storm
Where the roiling sea can flower
On the land. Pearls form
Around the outrage of the air,
Winter, summer both the endless,
Sheeting surge of what we dare
To salvage from the world’s wild distress.
A riddle is a puzzle, but also a large coarse sieve, used for separating ashes from cinders or sand from gravel, or form from chaos.
From the layers of the world, we choose who we are. We sieve structure from chaos, to salvage the parts that matter, the pinpoints of light shining through the confusion of ice.