Gathering Sea-Drift at Rodanthe
- for AWH
Shorelines never seem so far away
as when we come to them in grayness.
Whatever watches from the coastal forest
must be gray-eyed and gray-minded.
The sea rolls landward in slow heaves of humpback,
shell nacre, carcass and bone, stink,
and what it carries participates in the light
of everything that is horned and membranous,
rubbed down to shard, stars reduced smooth
for a bowl on an end table, a pocket of secrets.
Breast plate, claw armature, drift
and stone heaving with a sea-swell forward,
failing back in troughs of gray exhaustion,
lifted again, another attempt at giving.
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