I need a name for the part of the the tide
where the most of the flotsam goes
the part of the water responsible
for the cramping of the rows
of driftwood, lining ocean shores
uneven disheveled and wild
what's the name of that ocean-hand
that leaves the wood so piled
recklessly, lovingly
as the toys of some eternal child
that piece of the water which ensures
that not all parts of the beach are the same
it makes every shorelong walk unique
I wish that tide had a name

And I need a name for the time of day
when the Sun's up overhead
between the dawn and noon-time
when you're just a few hours out of bed,
but more than a few hour's still away
from cleaving to your bed again
therefore it isn't quite midday
I wish that time had a name.

And I need a name for the temperature
where everything's just right
The world is neither hot nor cold,
Celsius nor Fahrenheit
The temperature when you fall in love
The degree when you win a game
The climate when you feel at peace
I wish that point had a name

And I need a name for the smell of the world
when it's just begun to rain
when the ground is hot and thirsty to
get poured upon again
the smell is fresh and clean: unique
though no two times the same
it's the smell of life and it fills the soul
I wish that scent had a name

And I need a name for the sort of man
that talks of tides and shores
and ponders on the scents and times
that move this world of yours
That wonders at the temperature
more than his bank account
because the climate, more precious is
than any coin amount
because the world is cause for joy
and living free, paramount
He laughs and sings at everything wild
and runs from all that's tame
and writes down verse to define the things
that ought to be unnamed