The roaring alongside he takes for granted
And that every so often the world is bound to shake
He runs, he runs to the south, finical, awkward
In a state of controlled panic, a student of Blake
The beach hisses like fat. On his left, a sheet
Of interrupting water comes and goes
And glazes over his dark and brittle feet
He runs, he runs straight through it, watching his toes
- Watching, rather, the spaces of sand between them
Where (no detail too small) the Atlantic drains
Rapidly backwards and downwards. As he runs
He stares at the dragging grains
The world is a mist. And then the world is
Minute and vast and clear. The tide
Is higher or lower. He couldn't tell you which
His beak is focussed; he is preoccupied
Looking for something, something, something
Poor bird, he is obsessed!
The millions of grains are black, white, tan, and gray
Mixed with quartz grains, rose and amethyst
Other Elliott Carter songs:
all Elliott Carter songs all songs from 1976