Tracks come easy to the world…
a line of forks in snow,
dour imprints in the mud,
tiny blots on shifting sand.
My footprints are forgotten
the moment they are made
but these spoors speak of
movement, hunger, the camaraderie
of flocks and packs and herds.
The paw is a mighty story teller.
The hoof speaks from an hour before.
Talons are brief messages
for heads to separate
their barred owls from their hawks.
I walk a beach, a thousand crisscrossed journeys:
sanderlings, snipes, ruddy turnstones.
The tide rolls in, intent on blotting
out these tales.
But that just gifts the laughing gulls
something else to laugh about.
John Grey is an Australian poet and US resident. He is published in
That, Dunes Review, Poetry East and North Dakota Quarterly with work
upcoming in Qwerty, Thin Air, Dalhousie Review and failbetter.
Photo credit @topazspirit at http://www.unsplash.com