Early stars hang over the water, birds frozen in the sky. Gulls circle, drop from the sky for crabs or clams, their incandescence makes me think of falling stars. The wind brushes hair from my forehead. The first fairy strokes of dew are in the air. Already in the dimness of purple light darkness leans against my eyes. I listen for the hush of grass – the water stills as if it might hear it. I wait to feel the magnetism of the moon – the buoys ring as if they do. The rising moon sheds feathers onto the water. I drink a glass of wine – pleasant, perishable, puzzling. I think of God’s body trapped in an atom of bread. I think of the life I have used, the good, the wasted.