On one of the myriad bays
along the Maine coast. Keep the holocaust
at bay I said to Dave because
you’ll spend all day gathering
2,000 calories and still be miserable hungry.
An undiminished population of humans is risible.

Black spruce and balsam fir,
you can eat the inner bark
in a starvation emergency.
There’s plenty of Cornus—bunchberry—
each orange pith around the stone
worth maybe a quarter calorie.

Lots of sarsparilla but the fruits
not out yet and to date I have not
savored one. Let’s see—dandelion
of course and huckleberry but
the most important source of sustenance
would be seaweed.

Learn your mushrooms! for the protein.
Accept the situation
come the apocalypse.
I struggle against my insignificance
but it would be better to struggle
against my ignorance.

Less effortlessness, more fishermanliness.
That’s the lesson of this Maine vacation
there’s a lot you can eat when in need—
the hips of roses and the pips of grasses.
And an endless supply of seaweed—
bladderwrack, dulse, kelp and thin green lettuce.

I’m lying down in the ground
as the sun shines its rays
right inbound
on me.
hounding me
(surrounding)
Without a sound

Or is there?
A ringing
or dinging
a pinging
maybe a constant stinging.

I wouldn’t know.

Could be the blood pulse
or the sea dulse wrapping
the seashells doing their sins
or
a pair of siamese twins
trying to
dance and
lance and
advance on my grave
(how brave! how brave! i hope they cave)

germinated spouts
and terminated doubts
with exterminated outs.

THE SEA at its worst drives a white foam up,
The same sea sometimes so easy and rocking with green mirrors.
So you were there when the white foam was up
And the salt spatter and the rack and the dulse-
You were done ******* these, and high, higher and higher
Your feet went and it was your voice went, "Hai, hai, hai,"
Up where the rocks let nothing live and the grass was gone,
Not even a hank nor a wisp of sea moss hoping.
Here your feet and your same singing, "Hai, hai, hai."
  
Was there anything else to answer than, "Hai, hai, hai,"?
Did I go up those same crags yesterday and the day before
Scruffing my shoe leather and scraping the tough gnomic stuff
Of stones woven on a cold criss-cross so long ago?
Have I not sat there ... watching the white foam up,
The hoarse white lines coming to curve, foam, slip back?
Didn't I learn then how the call comes, "Hai, hai, hai"?

Tonight I would turn to the seas
I would drive for hours to reach them
To just breath in her salts
I would lay suspended somewhere
Between surface and bottom
Enveloped and held by the waters
Taken aback by the blues and greens
Caressed with no abandon by acres of dulse and kelp
Ride along the undertow to forgotten cities
Tonight I would turn to the seas

Wave after wave
White tips of foam
With grey linings run towards
A warm brun sand

Spider web white threads
On a turquoise canvas
Swirling in and out
Lapping in on a black granite frame

Emerald shore
Lined with dulse and crab
The changing sea palette
Paints a different picture every second

Slate, ash, porpoise, dove
Lead, pebble, coin and fossil
Pewter , cloud, silver and smoke
All dash towards the shore

Grey sandpipers run like kids in unison
In and out, in and out
Orange puffins land on small nests
Black and white Oystercatchers nod for food

Shifting cloud darkens the beach
Walkers led by happy dogs
Traverse the length of the coast
As the setting sun signals time to go home