WALKING ON

Walking on sand dunes
squatting on blankets
between earth and big sky
on Crane's beach
picking up shells by the shore
reaching to hear bird voices
over the vacant sea
while composing a sonata
in B major
for piano and viola
to embody this morning
as red and orange leaves fall
from my mountain top excursion
and now daily rest as squirrels
quickly climb over Oak
wanting to meditate
by a first glued ear
to the cooling ocean air
in a half light early hour
wanting to float over water
stretched out in November
at my last brief kayak trek
coiled in my Franciscan song
that in dawn my tongue utters
from a mouth of its ineffable love
headlong into a diving wave
once covered
in  an eye sore white dust
which pulsates on my feet
by a labyrinth of waves
remembering the stray cat
by the aqueous chorus of wrens
a poet lies smothered
by a circle of infant birds
who walk me to the Bay
as three snow flakes fall.