Eye to eye with circling shearwaters
the dumb spirit scans the sea.
As I think I divine a voice
the feeling dissipates like filigree 
foam on the breaking wave.

     And while sharing truths as perceived
the dumb spirit does not record.
There can be no archive and no
epic drama witnessed abroad
illuminates one unmet 'why?'

     And it's for my patience to crumble
where the dumb spirit abides.
As I turn to labour through sand
peace and attention then divide,
swirl on high trade winds; paper scraps.

     Possessed of the one breath, who shall lead 
the merry and pointless dance?
As an animal I'll squeal for myself
but the dumb spirit in true eloquence
moves to express itself. With love.