Here, where the cool air
is laden with brine, it’s time
to let the sharp salt smell
of this ancient floor
restore us to our senses.

Time
to find
our place
here
where salt and water shine
as if
they were
one element.

What have we come here to learn?

Something
about the subtlety
of these boundaries,
a way of seeing…

and perhaps
more—

to shed
a burden,
to offer it
to the sheen

as if there were no difference
between salt
and light between
sand and shore.

In this vast scape
the distinction
between water and not water
is merely weight.

The message
of this lake,
indecipherable.

The only function
of this jetty
is form—
a curvaceous grace,
spiraling
into itself,
a mark of inquiry,
a trace
along the shelf
of another
epoch—

art
already
a remnant.

What else then, to make?

An indent
in the horizon line, an altar, a big mistake,

a mark—
or at least a gesture,
something to show
we attended,
something to show
we were awake.