i grasp the slender
laurel branch and swing
over the dry ravine, the rocks flood swept by winter
now be-specked with shards of summer's hobo whiskey parties
sharp edged bits wait for rain to tumble against the stone
and join the bones and teeth and pebbles and bottle caps
smoothed and frosted, then beached upon the shore:
a path of generations
the pieces with my knuckle's blood washed clean,
forgotten, remembered, forgotten, these small pieces dwindle,
dull or sparkle, gleam and catch the eye of some other century's knob kneed child
sifting jewels through his fingers sniffing kelp,
waving sand flies off his lips and hair.
a gull screams.
the soda bottles roll through the hiss, the surf,
the ultraviolet rays that eat the bonds of molecules
and render plastic into peas and minestrone,
the polymer sargasso in the great pacific garbage patch west of california
where disposable champagne flutes, toy cars and snack bags slowly drift,
eventually to sink and join the orphaned socks and earrings on the bottom,
get picked over by spindly pale crustaceans in the dark,
settle into the ooze: a layer in some yosemite or everest to come
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