The First Beach

I wonder who made the first beach.

It wasn't the sea shells, they were still

walking along the bottom of the ocean

in borrowed armor. It had to be the crabs.

First they were lobsters, then they shrunk

Dried by the sun. Peeling off the top glass

layers of the ocean, they began with claws

folding it neatly in half and kept on kept on

folding until finally broken down, they were

buried in sand! Later on, humans traded

recipes for air with trees, owls were

dreamt of by mice, railroads struggled

Blow by blow with the steel hammer

our government flexed. Entropy does

not have to be understood: any where

there is white air , lungs that cage it

with teeth , you will find my footprints.

The moon was a mistake. The moon relates

to a time before the first beaches; a time

when clouds were still whales swimming

over borders into pure untimed, unmoving

adolescent sunshine. Human bodies move

like rays of light off the ocean, de-evolving

restlessly into snakes that swim, banded

with red and yellow stripes through creases

in my eyebrows: I lunge forward to kiss

a bird and I'm alone again, watering the sky

with the beat of my wings... the beat of my

breath. I count down until eleven comes apart

and silently teaches me something. We're

just a series of thought processes governed

by every force we don't understand,

which to the wise is just another attraction

spread thick across the face of dice

Anonymously thrown.