The shorebird skims the ripple of the tide – 
a blue-grey blur against the morning pale;
sandpipers chase the waves away and delve
coquinas; seagulls scavenge in the shale;
above, a helicopter from Lejeune
and the pale vestige of the waning moon.

 

What can the feeble spirit comprehend?
I know that God is in each grain of sand,
the scurry-paths of pipers, in the waves,
and in the roiling sea, and far beyond.

 

Beyond blue skies there is a deeper sky:
our little planet whirls around a star
that whirls around a galaxy that whirls
among ten billion galaxies or more!

 

Amid this whirling, dizzy roundelay
I sit alone and watch the dolphins play.