This tidepool day you inhabit contains more than
you need. It stirs now and then to bring
faint news of old storms deeper than the earth.
From caves around you feelers and claws wave
their greeting, then slowly withdraw
and wait for tomorrow.
Sunlight is alive when it swims down where you are,
and you stand still, alert to take in the sun.
You become a stone, then a ghost of a stone,
then the gone water’s brilliant memory
of where a stone was.
Making the day expand in your heart and return,
you play a limited part in whatever life is,
practicing for that great gift when enlightenment
comes, that long instant when the tide
calls your name.
--William Stafford
Joyce Morgan, a long-time beloved friend, died last week. Since she once mentioned that she enjoyed Poetry Monday, this repost is dedicated to her memory. May she rest in peace. The good she did and was lives on.
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