Retrospective

Pleasured by the tides,
sandpipers dot the shore,
plucking sparks
out of the immensity.
A boy, too, is here—
greater than birds.
Boy, be brave, for you
are among boys,
and they have come down
to the break
on a pounding day.

Who, all eyes on him,
will say the words?—
Too rough. Go home.
They stand, one-footed,
suddenly motherless,
listening to the roar.
First one, then all,
Plunge into the waves,
into the cave of forms.

White arms hold them!
Green wings pin them!
The roar! the roar!

And one by one,
they pop out. And the last—
where is he? — the last!
he too pops free,
breathlessly whooping,
his knees bloody,
a cup of death
in his mouth,
a spark of eternity
in his eyes.

That one, and he alone
the one who plunges back,
again and again, practicing
for the day
he will wrestle Angels.