Alluvial

If only I could fly high above
then the whole world could stretch out before me
as this alluvial fan of seaweed forms its perfect river bed
tributaries, boulders, peninsulas, creeks, roamed by gigantic black birds

(though now I am worried by terminology--"alluvial"?--
but fortunately the crows don’t care
the waves don’t care
the drying, soon to be inundated seaweed doesn’t care)

here, in this breeze that waters my eyes
I can take in patterns
I can grasp the whole
see my place in it
this 20 or 30 square yards is enough
should be enough
for my spirit to settle in and make a home

(all that ambition, grand plans, complications….)

here, a bit of seagull fluff drifts by, a tumbleweed in this watery desert

(some pleasure boats out there, with their plans and purposes,
call me back to that other self, the unreal one)

I’ll just leave my shadow here until tomorrow