i curl into curl of shoreline sandstone
into the ground of chuckanut earth
i open bare face to the sun, warming
like a preening bird.
the placid wash of coruscate sea water on ears, brain.
i am given all this.
i give nothing of such substance back.
i look, listen, taste.
and make this poem, these words.
it is what we do, our job.
*Copyright 2010 by Luther Allen. This poem appears in The View from Lummi Island.