baylight

Alone on a porch fifteen feet from the ocean. 
the porch connected to a small cabin, 
the small cabin on an island 
in an ocean bay. 
Across the bay, a few hundred yards to opposite shore, 
a ripple of muscled mountains heave 
in rolling devotion to sky’s infinite sigh. 
This is a land of glacier and volcano, 
raw materials for a planet in labor. 
You are on a porch and think yourself alone. 

Do you not feel the wind,
taste the brine of sea on it? 
Do you not feel yourself wildly companioned?

There is a volcano behind you, the bay a remnant of glacier.
You sit solitarily yet suffused
with your quietly inclusive community. 
The tide is coming in, the wind is all around you. 

This is not a poem but rather manual labor. 
You are not alone but rather raw material. 

With the startling newness 
of every impossible moment, 
you ceaselessly become.