Meeting Benches World art in all forms
STEPS
A man was going on the grains compact the coast of Geraldton, alongside waves hesitant on shells, the smooth incessant restless Indian Ocean. Walking does not imitate, he thought, wondering where to go, a bit ‘sterposo, he thought on these sands otherwise deserted by mounds of seaweed scattered purple and black rocks with strange shapes, could walk forever, the promise of no brackish end, and there know, besides wave and water, over the sand grains, other than houses soon dark and the channels. His footprints on the beach stretched far as the eye can see, reminding him when, baby, he had ventured so far, and to return him he had run in the track of his fingerprints, fingers pointed purpose, heels sunk into the dark sand, and thought with pleasure and surprise: “Is it I? It’s me!”
(Dennis Haskell)
http://www.amazon.com/Kenneth-Slessor-Collected-Poems/dp/0207172579
