In the middle of Pangea where I now stand
the year alternated between desert sands
and huge flash floods that laid down
this red rock in their wash and then dried it hard.
These river sediments are crumbling now,
standing striated beside me, open to wind
and waves. Each molecule among us
is rather astonished that the rivers’ sweepings
have stabilized for so many millennia.
Mine have held together only 71 years
with the tide’s coming and going, carrying
a life’s accretions and deletions. Happy
these feet to walk on sands with snails
and seashells, with shore grasses, and my dog Star,
who takes a short sweep of the shoreline,
splashing the small fishes into further waters
and then back to hide in the shallows. A stick
with a beautiful bend, that I’d noticed coming,
still stands, as if it’s permanent, then turns
and his eyes assess mine before he flies.