Stuffed with sea bass and rice wine

half a mile above the thoughtless Pacific,

he listened to lizards

scuttling in the rocks and yellow grass.

A slim, wind shaped laurel curved over him.

All afternoon he tracked its shadow over stone

to a question that came suddenly

as sea-turned sunlight interrupted

by the shadow of a hawk.

If he stayed there

staring out to sea,

how could they call him

a failure and fool?