Reclamation
The passage of sand between
was not what i had thought
it would be. Temper-shattered shards,
jags, a thousand invisible cuts, not
soft and white-powdery, sparkling like
time past. The sea nerved under its solar
plexus, sun-blind, spasm
spit of froth and fritter of flotsam and plastic
and all that refuse to be broken
and decomposed. You summon from shore
on yesterday's news paper spread. Ocean-
winded, boned and panged, my teeth
chattering on and on on
grit and tang of salt. The wings
you fed were overnighted
stale and lead. The sunblast orange soda
tasted caustic can. I want us always to be
happy and to claim this beach day from the wipe
of tide, of progress but the sea's reset
now, another ten minutes off off
fresh tarmac, smoothed over, and i am lost on it.
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