A Thousand Shades of Black

There was no thought of
symmetry or rhythm
at the edge of the sea,
as it rolled and pitched
there on the edge of night.
No thought at all,
just a thousand shades
of black, like the negative of
Jacob's peacock coat
flung wide.

Was this the sound of heaven,
this cacophony of waves,
and a counterpoint of
cricket and wind?
A host of angels, each one
of that vast multitude beginning
a psalm of morning
at a time of their own choosing -
a great babble of benediction and praise,
one by one by one,
each different in their turn,
each the same.

As above,
so below.

And so we walked
to the edge of the sea,
to the edge of night,
Returned.