R. K. Hagen 

NEW YORK, NY, USA 

 
 
Respect nature. Be kind to its creatures. Find a cause that needs you and participate in it and give to it. Enrich the world of nature with yourself and heighten your appreciation. Responsibility is key. The world starts with you and begins at your fingertips. 
 

AN EARLY MORNING SOJOURN (A MAN FALLS DOWN AT THE BEACH) 

Down along the shore 
The ocean runs itself like fingers through the hard sand 
Drawing back upon itself the water encourages a suspended cobbled cross of stones 
and soft chips of glass to path 
Each errant step I take in meter to the waves sinks me deeper into the sand 
until the earth's deed I change 

Sometimes when the waves stop snapping it's almost like sound shuts off 
and leaves me standing barely breathing— 
Naked to myself and the thoughts I say I have 
There are no articles in mind 
There is nothing to sing or dance to 
or someone to take lessons from— 
Only you and the sounds that you've been making all along 

A cobbler's leather thread to clutch together well 
the stream of headless thought that rushes 
through a long thin vein like salt into a cell— 
freezing you in your horizons . . .  
and the air blows hard to cross you in your shallow footprints 
and strips away the bits of sand that serve as mortar to the stones 
along the cobbled path that now surrounds your hands like they were a bracelet 

By four in fallow ground and feet in clay 
Twisted like a drunken man feeling for his keys 
when his back is burnt and the sun is west 
The rolling treeless plain 
specked in bleached and broken boards and temporal steps and subtle cues 
Cues-like to feel for walls in a darkened room 
Cues-like vapor are too vague when your anxious for direction 
Clues on the surface roaming like Hamurabi’s code 

Because of my position 
I can clearly see the path I've worn and the coins I've lost 
resting like a nest of eggs in the shadow thrown 
Couched in stones and splintered, sun worn, silver boards 
My steps are under break and without course 
Choking like a horse at high tide 
Yoked in mere 
Thrown and sun worn yet to remember: 
only a crow knows his place in the rain, 
a fool his way, 
and a sandpiper, the coast, on a windy day 

All poems Copyright © 1998 R. K. Hagen. All rights reserved.