My footprints softly follow me

My footprints softly follow me across

The moonlight – blacknesses that fleck the flow

Of silver sand.  The tortured waters toss

As I did in my bed.  Lonely winds blow

In restless searches, matching mine.  I lie

In sandy silence here, watching breakers groan.

They leap in silvered ecstasy, then die

Upon the shore.  The night-birds laugh, then moan.

My blood is brine, this body is of sand,

My heart pounds with the waves.  My dying cry’s

A gull’s. I reach out with a shaking hand,

Twine fingers with the tide.  I close my eyes.

The haunted wanderer has found her rest.

The prodigal weeps on her father’s breast.

                                -  Lamar Review

                                   Houston 1963-64