Tuesday, October 9, 2012

Striated Herons, White Sand, and Waves


Along the Edge

Although the idea of Galapagos 
has no human footprints, 
we've been scrambling here
since the time of Pizarro.
The clumsy wreckage of our presence 
still vies with efforts to preserve and restore.

Beside the slow, even breathing of the sea, 
weed-white shells and fish as bright as the rippling moon;
small herons check our credentials, 
lose interest, continue pecking
among grains of white sand,
along the edge of paradise.

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