The Ocean at Night

Night at the edge of the water,

with the wind in your face and the surf

spilling incandescence on your feet,

the middle ground is swept away

until all that remains

is the great and the small,

that which is closest to your heart—

there, the unbroken curve

of the globe in the dark,

and there, Orion leaping,

with the wind singing backup

for the empty sea, and there,

among the black silks

of the universe, the shivering stars,

and the shudder

of each wave's collapse,

and there, the wind

with no one there,

and then you are,

and nothing is resolved.