Gray's Beach

By Peter Halstead

Tired, tired, trapped, and barred,
Framed by vast confining hands,
Tricked by sun, ill-fed, ill-starred,
Blown by fate to hostile lands,

Nothing matters to a bird but light
In a place whose only hope is flight;

While here, on a noisy tourist beach,
Birds assemble just on whim,
Entire menus in their reach
From the palm trees' weaving rim,

With the universe's sky blue roar
Nesting on the island's open shore.

Gray's Beach, Waikiki
January 9th, 2002