So many stride beside the waves
You’d think it’s exercise that saves.
But I suspect there’s something more
That draws them here to walk the shore.
I see the way they often pause,
In their pursuit of a lost cause,
To watch a line of breakers stand
And fall across the bright white sand.
They’re not completely taken in
By dreams of being young and thin—
They see the water try to stay,
Run down the beach and slip away.
They’ve come with others of their age
To move along this well-lit stage,
Acknowledging they’re not alone
On broken shells and powdered stone.
Light Years Make Good Neighbors
Some wish to greet a Mayflower from the stars.
Who wants to be that native taking stock
As guns and gods unload on Plymouth Rock?
No thanks! I pray it crashes into Mars.