Down the beach I approached a small man standing where
the breakers dashed onto the shore. I said, “Why
have you snatched up that starfish to fling through the air
and into the waves?” Under brilliant blue sky
he picked up another. “They’re all on the brink
of dying,” he told me. The sweep of the white
hot sand stretched forever. Into the drink
he lobbed yet another. As day fell to night
the man carried on. “To the ends of the earth
there are starfish!” I said. “I have really no words
but: You can’t save them all!” Then he said with much mirth,
“Saved this one!”—his voice like the cry of sea birds.
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