a painting by Henry Ossawa Tanner
A shadow stretches
from dune to dune,
cool valley where
tufts of grass
lean towards the ocean.
Out to sea, sails flutter like
the wings of a cabbage moth
I saw this morning in my garden,
searching for a place to lay
a last clutch of eggs
before winter closes in.
So often I have felt
like those shrubs on the beach,
bent sideways from
some elemental force,
its life-changing weight
pressing me into a new shape,
as if my heart were an object
to be molded by wind.
I offer myself as raw material,
a last chance at transformation
before the pale half-disc of sun sets
and that cloud spreads
across the sky.