Sky rolls in and leaves the sand
as much sky as that far horizon, itself
as hard and gray as here, the nearer edge:
star-shelled wet horizon under toe.
We’ve said and say again
our happiness is all and only this. That is
to say, all this and only this, a moment
of a day. Or maybe in the night
a fire-worked flower hung sizzling
in space, in our startled headlights a fawn
become the spindly dancing joy
of knowing Now.