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
sea-mist:
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
cloud-wrapped
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
answers.
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