by Anne Morrow Lindbergh
Within the hollow wave there lies a world,
gleaming glass-perfect, rising to be hurled
into a thousand fragments on the sand,
driven by tide's inexorable hand.
Now in the instant while disaster towers,
I glimpse the land more beautiful than ours,
another sky, more lapis-lazuli,
lit by unsetting suns, another sea
by no horizon bound, another shore,
glistening with shells I never saw before.
Smooth mirror of the present, poised between
the crest's "becoming" and the foam's "has-been" -
how luminous the landscape seen across
the crystal lens of an impending loss!
Last updated May 14, 2019