on the beach

Sunday morning, a  walk on the beach,

little rocks under my feet,

the green & the blue, sky & water,

they are born anew with every sunrise,

luring me into a new day, life is good.

Which it is. I know it is.

Yet, I can not stop thinking about

the feast, we are not willing to share.

How many do you hold in your arms, you perfect one?

Thousands & I still love you!

My love is fierce.

Does your green & blue fill them with serenity,

while their breath leaves your tender, watery grib?

Do they feel you, promise?

A life of dreams seemed almost close.

(At least six humans die in the mediterranean every day.

I will be here for thirteen days.)

So, while collecting about 50 pieces of plastic garbage

on the empty morning beach, 

I feel like a steward of the earth for just a second &

think about a line of poetry by Wendell Berry,

There are no unsacred places.

                                                                                                   There are only sacred places.

                                                                                                   And desecrated places.

Bending over for yet another piece of plastic, I think:

How much this is true for human beings as well.

(c) Susanne Becker