Written on the Rocks at Vinal Haven, Me.

Old ocean waits.
We do not know her yet.
Touching an arm, a tail, a leg, we fret
In furious, mobius-like debates
As ocean waits.

Old ocean speaks
As to herself alone,
Slapping and rubbing a voice from the stone;
For who can translate what she seeks
When ocean speaks?

Old ocean waits,
Who births and bosoms ages.
She outlives death. What need for her of rages
At poisons her creature creates?
Old ocean waits.

Old ocean speaks
Long tales we do not hear,
With endings beyond that unimagined year
Our wavelet reaches rock and breaks.
Old ocean speaks.

Old ocean waits.
We do not know her yet.
Touching an arm, a tail, a leg, we fret
In furious, mobius-like debates
As ocean waits.