Every morning on the beach
there was that chevron pattern
and a lone morbid gull screech.
gingerly we'd walk and churn-
Heels down deep into the soup
and blend seawater with the sand.
knock heels together and stoop,
watch it sink back like quicksand.
Look detached like a kestrel
about to fly on a whim,
cautiously take a nominal-
leap forwards, as if to swim.
Otherwise, parallel stride—
fearfully trek side by side.
faithful envious now edified.
by His goodness stupefied.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem