August Litany
In the name of pine trees,
stiff breeze and the sea's
rhythmic song, of small shells,
all shore smells, white wave swells;
in the name of the wing
of the gull, sea stars' cling
to rough rock, tides that bring
the beach close; to all feet
that walk here, to this seat
on driftwood, to the heat
of dry sand in trusty sun.
To replete.