Bone Meal

Ideologies can only get you so far.

They swell and recede like the tide,

wrangled by the moon.

As certain as sky they come back again,

carrying slightly different particulate

but sparkling with that same ancient veneer.

And the children on the shore,

Whichever children, Whoever’s children,

point and jump and exclaim—with each breaker—

Oh look! Look what we have discovered!

Oh look! Look what we have realized!

This is it.

Oh, neti neti.

Bravely now, with plastic shovels and rakes,

every tiny muscle darts and quivers and quakes

in the noble pursuit of stooping and trenching

in an attempt to tame

a seemingly powerful, bucking wave.

Sun creeps from blue to black,

for it is in cahoots.

That much is known.

Slowly the children sink,

bone to pebbly stone

to granular dregs.

And from the darkest deep,

from the bottom of the belly of the sea,

Ocean takes a sip and says,

Ah, that’s good tea.