For No One

The tide of Octavio Paz
Makes such a splendid example.

Inspired, it goes on and on, lines
And more lines comparing the tide,

Itself, the word compared to words,
Tide as whispers, mirrors, laughter,

Tide as mourner, beggar, panther,
Tide as mother, bitter, oily,

Tide as bare feet, washerwoman,
Mad woman, shaking and angry,

The tide as self-consuming mouth—
Dozens of lines of this, dozens

Of vivid tropes and images,
Until you begin to accept,

To believe this tide is a thing,
A borderline animate thing,

As you delight in its fecund
Lap of poetic artistry

And forget it’s just one of us,
A word, a term for a passing

Event, a pattern in cycles
Of similar cyclic patterns,

Therefore predictable, therefore
Time, likewise waiting for no one.

There’s no tide beyond terms for it
Bobbing along waves rushing in.