The Old Man on the Shore

deep mountains lined up in rows
the pine forest reached to the sea
on the shore an old man lay
stretched out on the pebble beach

and this sun-ripe September day
the distant news of sunken ships
the cool blue of the northeast breeze
caressed the old man’s face

his hands were folded on his chest
stubborn and tired like two crabs
the tough hard-shelled triumph
of a journey outlasting time

his salt-wrinkled eyelids
were softly closed
and in the gold-speckled darkness
the old man listened to the roar

the sea the sharp-toothed fish
the flaming dawn
the rocks blooming at the bottom
the nets and the fisherman’s home

or maybe the roar came from high
in the pines near the clouds
he knew it would make him dizzy
to look up at them from below

deep mountains lined up in rows
the pine forest reached to the sea
on the shore an old man lay
stretched out on the pebble beach