Sunday Walk

Back on the ocean beach — long-forsaken
territory. The littoral ends with
a ledge of scrub above kelp-wrapped driftwood:
plovers feed among white-grey spikes.
The new stairway is higher, built to last…
I trudge south to the bridge beneath which
a penguin, bedded in sand, offers its puzzle:
blue-tinged coat glossy as slicked-back hair;
flippers with the look of combed raw silk:
along each outer curve, a cross-woven band;
where the head should be, a throw of bones;
then the eerie remains of a claw — pinkish,
with smoked-glass nails. Sea losses, sea gifts —
who would presume to weigh their balance?