Tracks in the Sand


I turn to see my footprints in the sand
as wave after wave rolls in.
Now, here I stand, observing.

And though my footsteps be almost gone,
they remain, and perchance someone will follow.

And if someone sees my kneeprints
(suspecting I had stopped to pray)
would I have to tell them
that I'd only stopped along
the way to pick up shells?

Yet, even on our knees with tiny shells
there is great glory
and a doorway out of ourselves.
Puerto Rico, 1979

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