By The Lake

In a distant factory,
white mountains of sand
transformed to glass:
bottles, mostly,
which somebody left
to be gobbled by waves--
rubbed and rolled
in a sea-green gizzard,
and stranded,dimly lit
as dragon gastroliths,
upon the ever evolving edge
of these high, white dunes.

* * *

I learned today
that cottonwoods
turn roots to branches
and branches to roots
depending on the way
the sand blows.

* * *

Raindrops wink
in softly billowing water;
this body of waves,
a gray blanket swung
to catch the stars.