In The Span Of The Reach Poem by Barbara Buxton

In the span of the reach to the can for
the worm,
There's the dance of the Tern
To the music of the wave,
And the death of
the fiddler in the beak
of the piper,
While the dive of the Albatross
marks demise
of the Bluefish
Simply passing by.

The fingers of death
Close in on the CAN,
While the seaweed moves with the crawl
of the worm
Seeking safety from the hook of
Death,
The seagull spies a mullet swimming
Close to the surface
And that is the end of that.

While the old Fisherman's fingers
Wiggle in search
Of the worm he knows
Is there:
The sand piper spies the clam
In the sand
And five fingers pull the worm from the can.

Old fisherman recalls
In the days of his
Youth,
That the hand retrieved
Was unmarked by
The truth of old age and the
Ruddiness of years;

Of his days on the beach
And the spans of his reach
To the can for that worm that
Is there.

And the worm still he struggles
Though impaled to the head,
Goes flying like the seagull cast in the wind;
Like the kite down the beach
To the blue of the sea
And is the last death occurring
In the
SPAN OF THE REACH.


(For Buck)