The tide ebbs and reveals orange and purple sea stars.
I have no theory of radiance,

                but after rain evaporates
off pine needles, the needles glisten.

In the courtyard, we spot the rising shell of a moon,
and, at the equinox, bathe in its gleam.

Using all the tides of starlight,
               we find
               vicissitude is our charm.

On the mud flats off Homer,
I catch the tremor when waves start to slide back in;

and, from Roanoke, you carry
                the leafing jade smoke of willows.

Looping out into the world, we thread
                and return. The lapping waves

cover an expanse of mussels clustered on rocks;
and, giving shape to what is unspoken,

                forsythia buds and blooms in our arms.

Copyright Credit: Arthur Sze, “At the Equinox” from Compass Rose. Copyright © 2014 by Arthur Sze. Used with the permission of Copper Canyon Press.