Auspices

In siftings of chromatic sediment Shed by the winter hours as they decay, With slow descent Light settles through the lower sky in peach, Then mauve, then pale self-abnegating gray Against the water, now that day is spent At Bennetts Beach, Under the high withdrawing blueness, band On band, like layers in a decorative Bottle of sand, Enclosed beneath the heavens’ dome, as though This were the perfect realm in which to live, Preserved, unburdened by the least demand, Or wish, to know— And simply be. Along the beach convene Some silver gulls which stand around reflecting Upon the sheen That comes and goes about their scarlet feet, And crested terns fly back and forth inspecting The shallows for a last titbit to glean, And lightly treat A two-faced wind that works its way across The metal of the sea it tries to planish And to emboss, While deep in its unbalanced buffetings Gannets alternately appear and vanish, Plunge, rise, and loft and give their heads a toss. These things, these things