Surf
Here
are
gardens
growing,
ruining
in
the
deep,
Where
the
frail
foam
pauses,
then
topples
and
unturns
Forever
and
forever,
wonderful
white
ferns,
Where
feathers
fly
in
colors
and
lights
like
lizards
creep,
Where
the
twining,
white
ivy
shrivels
and
is
rolled
Glamorous
and
blowing
into
fragment
and
flake
Beneath
enormous
orchids
that
only
bloom
to
break,
To
crumble
into
smoke
and
turn
to
opal
mould.
*
And
some
waves
like
children
each
one
alight,
alone
Hurry
up
the
pathway
and
point
and
hesitate,
Their
torn
blue
ruffles
tossing
around
them
as
they
wait,
As
they
turn
and
tiptoe
seaward
over
shell
and
stone.
So
it
is
that
wonderings
flow
in
and
out
of
me
Like
little
bells
and
tassels
of
foam
along
a
beach
They
dream
and
sigh
and
whisper,
whimper
and
reach
For
peace
withdrawn
as
softly
as
sand
from
the
sea.
[41]
