Pfeiffer Beach I

by Daniel Hintzsche

The waves, dying, roar like thunder in the earth.
 
The rocks stand steady amid the rush of agonies,
not so evidently dying themselves.
 
That all these stony stacks and boulders,
sundered now by such noisy contention of suicides,
were once one single headland, solid, complete–
and, long before, removed entirely from the sea–
 
That is what one does not remember, and must.
 
That (in this middle world
where God is not one but many,
where sea is not stone is not wind is not creature)
no thing can be born
but is conceived between implacable enmities–
no thing made that will not be unmade,
in time and by Time.
 
That it must all change–heartbeat by heartbeat,
wave-fall to wave-fall. That only so
may future become.
 
Stay, passing moment, thou art so fair.
 
But moments are not moments
unless they pass,
this seascape only beautiful
because it will not stay.
 

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