PATHS

Crushing in my hand

The bay as I pass,

Drinking in its fragrance

With the sea's scent,

While gull-wings write

Poems white and fast

On the blue sky

That is soft with content;

Crushing in my hand

The bay and the juniper,

While I record

Each line the gulls write,

I go by sea paths

Down to the sea's edge,

I go by heart paths

Deep into delight.

Simple is my joy

As the little sandpiper's,

Who follows beside me

With silvery song;

Blither than the breeze,

That skims great billows

Nor knows how deep

Is their flow — or strong.

Simple is my joy,

A sunny sense-sweetness,

Full of bird-bliss,

Bay-warmth, spray-leap.

Mysteries there are

And miseries beneath it,

But sunk, like wrecks,

Far down in the deep.