Haines Eason  Pacific Starfish  On the middle day we saw them,
As if we had to be evenly distant From everything made by man—
Both approaching and leaving known Worlds. Purple, blue, yellow
By the uncounted gross across a tide So low it shivered, bruised
by coastal rocks. A day, a night, half a day more and there We
found ourselves, racing the rising waves Around a headland crag,
rough sky Heavy as the gear lashed to our backs, Its weight with
us gouging holes Across the slate sands. Until stillness. And in
the muffled, moving gray above, A wing beat slight in turning,
ravens' calls Muted, a sound of feathers turning Down the
cliffs.      It was then we found ourselves, resting, Surrounded
by a concentration of them, All fingers, clinging, climbing to
nowhere As kelp would, if it might, deathly In their stony
dreams, sure, secure even, And it made no sense, our joy At such
unexpected colors—violet, turquoise, Amber—at such immutable
light that hung, Pure and unknowing and unchanged.      Continue
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