There are some mistakes
that glow temptation
along the shifting line
of surf and shore,
peopling waves and dunes
with intimate ghosts.
The graceful symmetry
of broken bones,
idling overhead of the
spider herd of stars.
The moon casts its beams
and a valse of clouds
races to catch them,
letting some few slip and tilt
as if on a sheet of glass,
showering the beach and the black sea
with shutterfuls of light,
all creatures, great and small,
caught in innocent flight and
not so innocent pursuit.