How desperate is the sun to stay afloat,
the sullen burning orange. The gulls
are not yet sated here,

quarreling for scraps and tidbits
clinging to the crusted foam
at water's edge. A buoy stands alert,

the bay's floating sentinel. Nearby,
an angler, struggling in the gloom,
strains to pull his tarpon in.

The harbor master knocks the rosy embers
from his pipe and, shrugging,
wipes his salty chin. In the water

by the tiki bar, a manatee disturbs
the surface, bobbing for rainwater
engendered by a sudden storm.

Refreshed, she spies a drunk, and disappears.
How quickly even purple fades to grey,
to twilight, and then the eager nothing.

Still, insufficient creatures that we are,
we feel the surging in our marrow,
pulling us further, further out to sea.

These are the hands that bring you into the world,
and these are the hands that take you out of it.
These are the hands that cling for dear life
to a capsized boat in the sea.
These are the hands that wield a knife
that cuts your life to save it.
Some of these hands are cracked and torn
from all the labor that tears them.
Some of these hands reach out to a man
who despairs of receiving deliverance.
Some of these hands belong to the women
who lift up and give strength to the sufferers.
Some of these hands are soothing a child
that cries in a night full of sorrow.

Some of these hands are praying to God
and some of them pray to Jehovah.
Some of these hands are praying to Allah
and some of them pray to Buddha.
Some of these hands pray to the Spirit of Man
and some of them pray to Brahma.
Some of these hands pray to a Higher Power
and some of them pray for a sober tomorrow.
Give thanks to the hands of all those you esteem.
Remember the hands of love, of hope, and of dreams.

I had forgotten what it looked like,
the death of a tree. Somehow
it all came back to me-

the empty hilltop holding it alone,
denuded of its bark. Somewhere
inside its core, the tree lived

the forgetfulness of death. Perhaps
it was the beetles and the grubs
that did it- although I doubt

the old boy ever knew what hit it.
High upon its former crown,
where freshened leaves once had grown,

grew a jagged slash that lightning
tore asunder. I'm sure the limbs
defied the angry thunder, while

creepers hugged the trunk and limbs together.
Above, the surly buzzards glided by,
wrapped up in a most indifferent sky.