I am walking
on the sea, the sand,
the bottom of the sea
in the shells,
crabs, kelp of the
early morning washout
looking for those
parts of myself and my
family swept to sea:
the fish, birds have
swallowed them all.
Boats are trawling
for shellfish, salmon
birds, too, gut-
full of fish
rise from the tide.
Nothing remains
in the oyster beds
the mussel-crusted
quays. The mountains
the blue mountains
are moving
seaward and crushing
a heron, white
spreads white wings
and lifts to the east.