EVENING Comments

White rocks, multitudinous wharf roaches scatter.
It's a lonely, darkening shore.
. . . In the offing, a heavy stone mortar is being ground, grinding.

Straight rain unto dry seashells, black codiums, corroded anchors. . . .
Ah, becoming soaked, I sat at a sea corner,
and let the negligence of my life be washed!
It's an ancient soul. The sea!

What's lonely is the evening,
the abyss around me, the battles of waves
. . . Far off, at the tip of sleet-hued tides,
on a branch where great kelps cross,
stands a seahorse, darkening.
...
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