Longing for the Wrack Line

When I get back

I’ll peel off to the left

leaving the congregation

of sun worshipers

gathered at the foot of the stairs

to their plastic coolers

and tanning lotions,

each sand sinking step,

a push further into a precious

solitude dotted with terns

and sandpipers.

The rhythmic drone

of pounding surf will fill

a shrinking headspace

as the burning soles

of both feet seek

the cool wet sands

where each wave tumbles,

tossing seaweed, stone, shell,

then releases, then returns,

a perpetual succession,

the elemental communion

beyond the wrack line.


(In response to The Amplification Effect, no. 7)