The wide grey sandy beach is strewn with dark seaweed
In front of a guest house built on a boulder.
The pungent, salty air lifts the half-staff flag
For the victims of the recent random violence
By a lone shooter.
Come into the guest house to share a warm cup of tea
And drink words of heartfelt condolences to loved ones.
The guest house with chairs and a simple bed
For weary travelers for restful sleep
With lullabies with lyrics of spin-drift
Across the big waters,
Is open for visitors far and near, small and large.
Go through the open door, and windows are raised.
The breeze witnesses, No talk is too big for this house,
Nor is it too small—one gunman took many lives 80 miles
In Lewiston, NNW from here, York Beach.
We are guests on the planet in orbit, leaving our footprints
Of care for a better place for the next generation
Like our ancestors strived.
Let’s not buy the solutions mired in barbed wires
Of loopy politics of economics, elections, and statistics.
Come to the guest house and sign in the guest book—
This house honors the morality of breath of life
And is not for sale.
2023
Year of the Rabbit
Ring of Fire 
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