Careless rain

Pale waves nibble at grass and sand,
tired riders complaining
of years in the saddle
as water-coloured land licks into the ocean

and there is no edge,
no border
just a man singing
into an angry crowd
while the band leaves the stage

Footprints are blurred, then slide away,
and who is to decide
where he stood? Too late now to say
which is land and which sea:
even the moon hesitates

The tree of knowledge
is drowned or buried:
the tree of life
simply forgotten

Grains of sand turn into cliffs of clay,
not gold: a cold wind
from the north brings
careless rain,
flotsam and jetsam
flooding the failing fields

and if the singer digs a shallow grave
he will surely drown
despite the distant hill
and the whisper
he is trying to unearth