[166] Amble Through

Does the gull dream

as it flies above the trees,

across blue waters or golden fields?

Or does it simply crack clams

on rocks below,

whirling down to catch the crown,

just to do another round?

Do we rustle with the leaves

or struggle through another do?

The paradox of do or done

sits on my lips, I speak of none.

Step up on the rung,

one-by-one in do or done.

Climb the tree, swim the waves

run through fields,

and crack the clams

for there is no other way

to amble through

this strange, brutal, but

beautiful, sublime,

and wistful life,

bestowed to you

in the heat of a night.