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Clumps of mosses of unexpected softness, riots of

mushrooms, fist-wide or thread-thin, whole

worlds of dripping.  Curving path and then,

broken open: the sky, the sea, our brittle hearts.

Flock of sparrows lifting lightly, silk in breeze,

tiny gelatinous tendrils littering beach,

seafoam blowing: icebergs, then clouds, then
 
meringue.  The dog skitters after sand pipers, foam,

runs circles, lopes toward a dead seal beached,

gaping, rib cage now scaffolding picked bird-clean.

High clean sky and yellow grasses, I am this seal

split open, purplish glimmering; I am this wide sky, clouds

breaking, mirrored in slick sand shimmering; I am this dog
 
running full out, for sheer joy of wind, for kick of sand,

for rough circles returning again and again
 
to sea, to foam, to bird, to us. 

Ruth Dickey is our Poet in Residence for January. This poem originally appeared in Mud Blooms (Harbor Mountain Press, 2019).



Previously: "San Jose, Costa Rica", and "Seattle Winter".