Saturday, March 15, 2014


Forgotten Boundaries

Today, midday
Before the Atlantic shroud
Storm to the west descends
I reach the horizon of low water
And a sea-lost river’s bend
Where the periwinkle-plum
For picking lay attached

The gatherer with the yellow-bag
And barnacled waders
Not seen now
One even two years hence
Like the Albatross
Far away
Shell-shocked perhaps

Retreating from the flood-tide
Across the old oyster beds
Seedless now
Diurnal memories and rotting kelp
And a slimed wall tumbles
Into a past and a future
Which is forgotten.  

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