Sandpiper
The roaring alongside he takes for granted,
and that every so often the world is bound to shake.
He runs, he runs to the south, finical, awkward,
in a state of controlled panic, a student of Blake.The beach hissed like fat. On his left, a sheet
of interrupting water comes and goes
and glazes over his dark and brittle feet,
He runs, he runs straight through it, watching his toes.— Watching, rather, the spaces of sand between them,
where (no detail too small) the Atlantic drains
rapidly backwards and downwards. As he runs,
he stares at the dragging grains.[…]
looking for something, something, something,
Poor bird, he is obsessed!
The millions of grains are black, white, tan, and gray,
mixed with quartz grains, rose and amethyst.(Elizabeth Bishop, Sandpiper)