the edge of the world

what are the newport kids up to tonight? i don't know.

i passed him on the way out of the ocean, going surfing

coming and going from the sea,

(this is how we meet)

the hamlet, the hovel, the neighborhood path--


"how are you doing?"

"i am sad"

"me too"

"maybe later we can walk on the beach, drink tea, talk"

"sounds good"

and so the the rhythm of days moves us forward, brothers

we are travellers on earth, together

few of us, hunkering down together in this little village

fishing, surfing, dying on the shore

holding one another when the days begin to shorten

drivers, passengers, walkers, fire builders

you, going into the salal brush at 1:00 am

looking for her dog, chased away by fireworks

he, barefoot, legs bleeding from scratches

she, angry in a small cabin, jealously driving friends away

mother, closing doors, wishing for more dreams

a heart attack, a fight, deep night,

asleep on the beach, waking up to candles still burning,

early morning surfers already getting out of the ocean, going to work

fog, heavy now for days,

ocean glass, oily soft, perfect waves,

ever-giving, every day sacraments

the saline, the smell of starfish in our nostrils,

the reasons we live here, at the edge of the continent:

the edge of the world.