The same message

I keep expecting one of these waves
to spew diamonds, one of these hours

to drop out of the sky
and speak to me.

I walk back and forth
over the unleavened bread of wet sand

as a stray dog leaving the shallows
shakes off water

in the same way a galaxy might
slough light-particles.

For the moment there is no pain,
no impatience--

just the tip of my tongue
pressing against my teeth

while the water,
in one of the oldest gestures on earth

skirts across the sand, etching
and erasing the same message:

everything touches.