Thomas Lowe Taylor -- LATENT TANGO

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It's the day after Easter
And we're walking the beach.
I'm carrying a treebranch on
My shoulder--
I look at my shadow
Bearing something
between Neptune's trident
and His old rugged cross

Karen is collecting shells
White and broken and fine.
& as we walk along,
Dog-flung birdparts
Lift into the air;
Feathers left and right.

Out at sea
You can see the horizon bend
Where explorers
Would have doubted the limits
Of anything. Here it's nothing but
Flat sand and clear air,
Edged with puffy clouds
Sliding overhead