Poetry and Poetics
IN OUR CRAFT
This long horizon curves with foam’s
soft offering at the end of land,
pulling us like beaches, each in our craft,
towards body of earth, seaweed and sand.
Waves sway the granite. A thickening weft
rocks seagull footprints back, weaving their stand
with hangings hung slippery, shell-shards of comb,
sand out again, land spit adrift,
gray-spattered seaglass, worked by water, its bone.
© by Annie Finch
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