A hundred tiny rivulets etched
into sand, into a square foot or less,
at the edge of stone and water,
fine art. a thing of beauty,
eternal and temporary both, evidence
of a creative God so ripe and fecund, so
profligate with his beauty,
unconcerned about the rising tide or prom, sure
beauty is never destroyed, only transformed,
new beauty available, no, certain,
no matter the weather.
About this poem.
We could learn from the seashore.