H  A  I  K  U     S  P  I  R  I  T
Out of the Blue

Sensing a change, I leave off studying and walk with growing excitement through the streets of Brickfield Town toward the strand. The evening is warm and clear, trees in full leaf retain their spring-like freshness, summer flowers the freshness of full bloom. But something else is happening. Out of the blue

gathered up in it
all this, and more

Between the wasteland and the bay, drifting in a state dream-like but with senses heightened, feeling every droplet, stopping often to turn about in wonder. Out of insubstantiality forms manifest, slabs of concrete bristling with rusty iron, vegetation and wild flowers, all dripping silver. A stand of teazels cards the fleecy wraiths and disappears.

On the shoreline
man and heron
swallowed up

From the mouth of the bay beyond, voicing inexpressible feeling

in utter stillness
a foghorn lows

In response the thought arises, I need go no further, say no more. Here is condensed all that I have searched for, ever-receding yet everywhere at once, ungraspable yet soaking me through and through.

Again the South Bull sounds, and out of the depths, calling across the bay after a long pause, a sea-calf

Turning toward home along the cinder-track, so deliciously contrary the crunching noise, I look down in delight. Just in time —

fog huge around us:
a snail with horns erect
crosses over

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