Life Sentence

             Well past middle age, I still hear the tide
in my blood rush up on the shore and back 
             to where its pulse begins, and when I close 
my eyes I see a long-legged wading bird 
             step carefully into the water, intent on its goal
just beneath the surface—its whole attitude 
             keyed into the certainty that what it wants
will yield as long as it is quick, as long 
             as its aim is true, as long as the ceiling
we mistake for sky has not yet fallen in—
             and perhaps this a way of looking at 
the world from habit, which is to say, 
             according to beliefs we were taught: 
one day, there will be earth enough yet 
             to inherit; one day, those who mourn will be 
comforted, the wounds of the broken-hearted 
             bound and healed, the dead restored to life,
both love and dread absolved in gentleness.