Easter Monday

I set forth into a day that offers more
than could be hoped or bargained for: a seamless
compact between waves and mist and sunlight;
children freed by dancing water to be
utterly what they are — or charmed sprites
with starfish hands. Strollers pause at rock pools
showcasing ghost-shrimps and turbo snails,
limpet pyramids on long-cooled lava.
A girl in a white dress throws bread to gulls
with sun-fringed wings, drab underbodies.
I rest, hearing sandals crunch on gravel,
voices from each threshold of life meeting
in air, the sea's unconstrained surge filling
the estuary, beating like blood, like blood.